


The Lost Toy Problem

by Auntie_Diluvian



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: 15 years post pacifist run, Adult Frisk, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Frisk and Sans are both half-assed loser wannabe doms, Hair-pulling, It would be embarrassing if they both weren't kinda into it, Multi, Non-Binary Frisk, Reader Is Frisk, also smut in chapter six, smut in chapter three to be precise, two smuts how did i ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5194532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntie_Diluvian/pseuds/Auntie_Diluvian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toriel had finally finished her project, only there was just one small detail that needed to be addressed. You only wanted to help, but now rumor has it you had other... weirder... motives.</p><p>It doesn't help that Sans is back in town and he's not lifting a finger to help you put those rumors to rest. Which are completely unfounded, of course. You would never--and even if he DID--not that you would know if he did or didn't--and NOT that you've thought about it--well, it's useless to argue with monsters who have already made up their minds.</p><p>all the cool kids seem to have a story tumblr and i'm late to the party but: http://auntie-diluvian.tumblr.com/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Please Enjoy Responsibly

**Author's Note:**

> For those who want to know: Frisk is non-binary and uses they/them pronouns and when the smut arrives (and it will, whether you want it or not because I am full of bad ideas and must sin) they will have a vagina and the most typical accompanying secondary bits.
> 
> Forewarned is fore-armed! And four-armed is a medical anomaly but I bet it looks hot on you.
> 
> I can't even contain my shitty jokes to the actual story I AM A MESS
> 
> Just leave me.

Toriel was finally finished. She confirmed the rumors one afternoon after inviting everyone to her house for tea and, of course, pie. Toriel’s top secret project had been fifteen years in the making. Fifteen years since any monster had first felt the warmth of the sun. Initially, those who were close to her had been concerned. After all, many monsters were having a hard time adjusting. Many suspected at first that was why she spent so much time back in the ruins. But over the years, it became clear that whatever she was doing, her time was being well spent, as she always came back more cheery and eager about whatever else needed to be done around the school or in the community. Eventually everyone came to accept the occasional long hour spent working in the mountain as just another habit of hers.

Now, though, it was finished, whatever it was.  
  
Setting down her teacup, Alphys was the first to ask, “So… what IS it, though?”  
  
Before Toriel could answer, Papyrus, covered in crumbs, rose out of his wing chair.  
  
“YES! WHAT INDEED! WAIT. I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL VENTURE A GUESS. HMM. AH! OF COURSE! IT’S SO SIMPLE! YOU HAVE BEEN STRATEGIZING A WAY TO REINSTATE THE ROYAL GUARD! HONESTLY, TORIEL, HAD YOU TOLD ME I WOULD HAVE GLADLY LENT YOU MY EXPERT ASSISTANCE IN THIS MATTER! IN FACT, WE WOULD BE DONE BY NOW AS I HAVE SUCH A MIND FOR STRATEGY. BUT. IT IS NOT TOO LATE TO ASK ME TO BE CAPTAIN. IF THAT WAS SOMETHING YOU WERE WORRIED ABOUT.”  
  
Undyne glared daggers at him and he promptly sat down.  
  
“Well--no,” said Toriel. “Now, dear, we've been over this so many times before, and there’s just no need for a royal guard anymore. Thank you for your offer, though. It was very sweet and generous of you, as always. But as I was saying, when you’re all through eating, I thought we could take a quick hike through town to the mountain and I’ll show you all what it is I’ve been working on.”  
  
Toriel beamed at the various monsters now chattering away in her living room. You, too, were relieved everyone had been able to make it today. It wasn’t too often anymore you got to see all your friends in the same place at once, and you knew it especially meant a great deal to Toriel.  
  
As everyone gathered their things and got ready to leave for the mountain, Alphys came up beside you, fidgeting.  
  
“Listen, um… I don’t really like surprises, you know? I mean, I… I just like to know beforehand how I’m supposed to react, and I was hoping y-you knew? What her project was… since she raised you, I mean.”  
  
“Oh! No, I’m just as much in the dark about it as everyone else. But try not to worry about it, ok? You’re among friends.”  
  
Alphys smiled sheepishly. “You’re probably right. I just don’t want to mess up Toriel’s moment and say the wrong thing but I-”  
  
The doorbell rang. Not an unusual occurrence, as popular as Toriel was in the monster community but… all the people who usually came to see her were here. You counted. Alphys and Undyne, Papyrus, Asgore was somewhere keeping to himself, Mettaton and Napstablook, Muffet had gone into the kitchen to pour herself one last quick cup of tea, there were at least four Temmies, and that... should have been everyone. Maybe Toriel had invited someone from the school.  
  
She practically jumped and, before answering the door, she looked at you and grinned so brightly you knew she knew something you didn't.  
  
And so it was. Winded and slack-jawed, you took in the surprising sight of the new arrival. That is--of course she’d invited him, you just never expected he’d actually come.  
  
Beaming, Toriel drew him into one of her signature warm and cozy as fuck hugs.  
  
“BROTHER. YOU DID NOT TELL ME YOU WERE COMING TO THIS AUSPICIOUS GATHERING. I AM HURT BUT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL GRACIOUSLY FORGIVE YOU IF YOU WILL GIVE YOUR BROTHER A WELCOME HOME HUG.”   
  
 _Sans_. Wasn’t he supposed to be in… ummm… The last postcard he’d sent you was from Helsinki. Or was it Jakarta? But that had been over a month ago. Guilt stung you and you resolved to keep better tabs on him in the future.  
  
Everyone crooned over Sans’ return, even Undyne, in her way. You hung back. The last time he’d been in town, you had--well, you had… misjudged a certain situation and left things a bit awkward. But that was a little over a year ago. Surely by now he’d forgotten and all would be well again. You hoped so, anyway, as you drew close for your turn to hug him.   
  
His eyes shifted as he gently, awkwardly patted your back. It was over so briefly it barely registered but for the fake-ass grin he had plastered on his face.  
  
Nope, still awkward. Ok.  
  
“hey, frisk. good to see ya, kid!” he said, a touch too loudly.  
  
“Hey, Sans. It’s good to see you, too,” you half-mumbled, smiling painfully as you turned to go pretend to be busy in the kitchen.  
  
You could handle this. This was just some standard, everyday, haha-whoops-I-drunkenly-tried-to-kiss-you-the-last-time-I-saw-you awkwardness, and you would deal with it. Today, you could just avoid Sans except when necessary and nothing would have to be weird or uncomfortable for anyone else. Actually, you probably wouldn’t even have to do any work to avoid him. If that hug was any indication, he’d probably do a fine job of avoiding you, as well. Toriel’s grand unveiling of her project filled you with Determination.  
  
“Is everyone ready?” called Toriel.  
  
You would walk to the mountain with Asgore, you decided as everyone filed out the door and paired off. Asgore was a safe choice.  
  
Asgore had other ideas. He surged ahead to the front of the party, to walk with Napstablook behind Toriel and Muffet. He did not seem remotely interested in his ghostly walking buddy, though.  
  
“he’s still trying that?” murmured a low voice next to you. You hadn’t even seen him draw near. “i thought my brother and i were the only two boneheads around here.”  
  
You prickled a bit, because honestly, what did you _just say_ about avoiding him? Apparently he hadn’t gotten the memo. But if he was really that uncomfortable around you, then why did he immediately seek you out? Maybe you’d misjudged him again. If only he wasn’t so hard to read.  
  
"Two boneheads? Interesting, because for the last... mmm... seven years I've only counted one."  
  
That came out a bit harsher than you'd intended.  
  
"haha, woah, are you trying to guilt trip me right now? y'know, it's okay to admit that you missed your uncle sans. also, you missed the part where you say, 'Oh, Sans! You and your brother aren't boneheads!'"

His impression of you was a truly unfortunate creaking falsetto.

"I would've, but actually I was still talking about Asgore."  
  
Sans chuckled.  
  
"Oh and Sans? How about you literally never call yourself my uncle ever again?"

"yeah, think i can live with that request. never really thought of myself that way, no reason to start now." He looked at you as if he was trying to work out a problem. You kept your gaze fixed straight ahead on the leafy path through the trees.  
  
"I did miss you, though." _Don't blush. Don't blush_.  
  
You blushed.  
  
"I mean. We all did. Of course."  
  
"Y yeah? hmmm..." he said noncommittally.  
  
The two of you walked a moment in silence. You were beginning to lag behind the rest of the group, Sans' lazy stride not getting you anywhere fast.  
  
"ok," he said out of the blue after a moment of quiet reflection, "it's my turn now, to send _you_ on a guilt trip."  
  
The contents of your stomach, and your mood, soured.  
  
"so. why is it, that even though i get daily phone calls from my brother, and let me tell you, that does not come cheap long-distance, and alphys constantly messages me on facebook, and toriel sends me handwritten letters and way too many baked goods no matter how many times i change my address, and--do you know even undyne checks in on me from time to time? i guess what i'm trying to say is,"  
  
His voice was outwardly cheery and he wore his signature grin but the lights in his eyes had gone out.  
  
"if you're going to tell me you missed me and act like we're still friends, maybe you'd better explain what you meant by giving me the silent treatment this past year."  
  
Oh, god. He wanted to talk about this now?  
  
"Honestly?" you managed to get out, "I um, didn't think you'd want to hear from me after the way we left, uh... things. After the way I messed things up and you left."  
  
The lights reappeared in his eyes as a slow smile spread across his face. "things, huh? what things," his voice dropped, "do you think you messed up?"  
  
You looked away. "Now you're just teasing me, and it's very mean of you, Sans, and I-"  
  
"what things, frisk? i'm curious."  
  
"You're gonna make me say it? Really? Ok, shit, I'm sorry I drunkenly kissed you at Alphys' hatch day party last year. I mean um, that is, I'm sorry I tried to."  
  
Sans stopped in his tracks.  
  
"you are?"  
  
"I- Yeah, I must have misread the situation. I was drunk and you were so... Well, that doesn't matter.  I thought maybe you had finally started to see me as an adult and I hoped that... Umm... But clearly we were not on the same page that night and I'm really, really sorry."  
  
You had halted when Sans did, but now your throat had gotten tight and your voice had grown shaky sometime during the last sentence. Like hell were you going to cry about this complete nonsense, so you decided it was best to stop babbling and start walking. The group had kept moving forward and were now out of sight.  
  
Before you had even taken a second step, bony fingers closed around your wrist. His grip was firm, not a vice, but it held you there all the same. You turned toward him and for once, he wasn't indecipherable Sans. His concern was as clear in his expression as the tip of Mt. Ebott over the treetops.  
  
"so that's why i haven't heard from you? because you didn't think i wanted to-"  
  
He stopped himself short.  
  
Grinned suddenly, like a punchline clicking into place.  
  
"but you did miss me, right?"  
  
"I-yes."  
  
His 'crazy eye,' the one that used to scare you, began to glow bright blue as he pulled you closer. Your heart did a rimshot in your chest.  
  
"missed me?" he asked again, his tone, leading.  
  
"What? Yes, I just told you, what are you-"  
  
"now ya gotta kiss me."  
  
Sans' face was so close to yours, a couple of centimeters or less. Everything was blurry and you couldn't tell if that was from the sheer shock of finding your body pressed up against his, or just the natural biological fact that people often don't see clearly what is right in front of their nose.  
  
Your face, you knew, was likely red from your hairline down past your collar. Wasn’t this precisely what you’d been waiting for? But… no. He couldn’t just go from forcing your hand into embarrassment to expecting you to want to kiss him. Even if you did want to kiss him, but that was really not the point. Sans had always gone from 0-100 at a moment’s notice when you least expected it. But regardless of the color in your cheeks, and the fact that in spite of yourself you were leaning forward, and your rising heart rate, and the fact that even though it was late autumn and you were wearing a thick sweater, you were extremely warm--regardless of all of those things, you needed to disabuse him of the notion that you would simply follow his lead and dance to his ever-changing tune.  
  
You narrowed your eyes.  
  
“Where’s the whoopie cushion, Sans? Isn’t that how you usually end a joke?”  
  
That was probably too mean for the situation at hand. Sans actually looked a bit hurt when you separated yourself from him. He recovered quickly, though, as he always had from hecklers and pun-hating brothers and confused, flustered 25-year-olds alike.  
  
“first off, the whoopie cushion _is_ the joke, and second, actually now i've got an app on my phone that does a rimshot when i press a button, and-”  
  
“AHEM.” Undyne stood, glowering at the you with arms crossed. You had no idea how long she’d been there. Was she just exceptionally sneaky for a fish monster on land or had you really been that oblivious to her approach?  
  
Alphys came trotting up beside her, gasping for breath. “Hch, Tori… el… sent us, she… hch- um, she- whoo, hang on.”  
  
“She won’t cut the ribbon unless you losers catch up with the rest of us to see it. So are you coming or d’you want me to tell her you’re busy?” Undyne wiggled her fins suggestively.  
  
“Ohmygod did they-”  
  
“-SHHHT.”  
  
“HA! You owe me a-”  
  
“HSSSST.”  
  
“Oh! Right! No! I meant that…… you owe me an explanation for running off ahead of me. Which you actually do.”  
  
The pair had already turned back to the trail.  
  
“I’m sorry, dear. You know how I get when I’m on a mission.”  
  
Undyne clasped Alphys’ hand in hers, you and Sans and your tardiness apparently already forgotten. Why couldn’t things just be easy like that?  
  
Not daring to risk Undyne’s impatience a second time, you and Sans followed close behind, silent.  
  
Sans took his phone out of his jacket pocket, typed something into it, then put it back. He looked at you expectantly and a moment later, yours buzzed. Your eyebrows snapped together.  
  
“What, am I back in high school now?” you muttered, making a show of pulling out your phone.  
  
 **Sans** : i'll bet you an appetizer from grillby 2’s that you still want to kiss me.  
  
You cast your eyes up to the heavens and heaved the most long-suffering of sighs.  
  
 **You** : What kind of a bet is that? If I won, I’d get free nachos, but IF you won, you’d get nothing because you don’t eat real food.  
  
 **Sans** : that’s a decent point, but if i won it’d mean you do want to kiss me. also, and more importantly, it would mean i was right ;)  
  
You glanced at him out of your peripherals and he actually winked at you, the fucker. You shoved your phone down in your pocket and picked up your pace a bit. Your phone buzzed against your thigh in rapid succession.  
  
 **Sans** : hey  
  
 **Sans** : hey  
  
 **Sans** : hiya  
  
 **Sans** : hey  
  
 **Sans** : guten tag  
  
 **Sans** : hey  
  
 **You** : WHAT.  
  
 **Sans** : knock knock.  
  
 **You** : Fuck you. Who’s there?  
  
 **Sans** : anita.  
  
 **You** : Pretty sure I’ve heard this one before, Sans. Anita who?  
  
 **Sans** : anita talk about some stuff with you.  
  
Another sigh from you. If you kept it up, someone would probably think you had caught feelings.  
  
 **You** : I just need some time to think. But we’ll talk, just… later, ok?  
  
You put your phone away for good when Sans nodded at you. It was only a minute or two before you finally caught up with the rest of the group. All of them stared at you before turning to watch Toriel gleefully cut the ribbon. She ushered everyone in with delight, but saved a special stern look just for you and Sans.  
  
What a disaster.  
  
At the end of the first corridor, Toriel gathered everyone around in a somewhat tight huddle, as the corridor wasn’t meant to accommodate quite so many monsters at once. Anytime Asgore shifted a muscle, the entire crowd jostled, and you found your side pressed squarely against Sans’.  
  
“Thank you all again for coming today, because it is my pleasure to welcome you to the unofficial first opening of…”  
  
Toriel beamed in her dramatic pause.  
  
“The First Museum of Monster History!”  
  
“What an excellent name! Much better than I would have come up with!” said Asgore, clapping and chuckling a little too heartily.  
  
Toriel scrunched her face up a bit.  
  
“Yes, well. It’s not set in stone yet, I haven’t ordered the signs. I might call it the… Mount Ebott Museum of Monster History. Or the New Museum of Monster History. Anyway, um. It’s through here, everybody! Please enjoy history responsibly!”  
  
Everyone cheered. It was for Toriel, whether or not they actually planned to “enjoy history responsibly”.  
  
After the slight bottleneck through the main door, everyone scattered to find whatever interested them. Not with a small amount of relief,  you watched Sans and Papyrus head off together. Good. Now you had some time alone to... gaze at this rock.   
  
You tried to read the plaque next to it but you couldn't seem to focus on any words past, "This keystone was cemented into the Grand Northern Archway during the first gathering of the... This keystone was cemented into the..."  
  
"Hmm, neat rock," said Alphys. You didn't think she had read the plaque either.  "Hey, would you maybe want to come over for dinner with us later? Netflix just bought Robocop 5 and Undyne is dead set on "hate-watching" it. I think the real reason, though, is that-" Alphys whipped her head around to check nobody was listening and dropped her voice to a giddy whisper. "They show Mettaton's butt."  
  
She giggled.   
  
Dinner tonight? Hmm, that would keep you out of trouble.  
  
"Sure, I'll be there. What time?"  
  
"How about seven-thirty?"  
  
"Great, I'll see you then."  
  
Alphys left the room. Good, you thought. Things were already returning to normal.  
  
The rooms of the museum, you noticed, were arranged by topic. The first room had been about the war, the placement of the barrier, and the ruins themselves, the foundation of old Home. The next room was dedicated to early underground art, culture,  and daily life, and you noticed the plaques' language seemed almost wistful. Not so in the third room. Toriel had pulled no punches, making her opinion of Asgore's actions perfectly clear, just as she always had. You found him in the next room sitting on a stone bench, head hanging. You squeezed his shoulder, gave him a sad smile, and left him to his regrets.  
This room was one that somewhat concerned you. The sign said, "The Last Age of the Underground: Contemporary Life in A Time of Unease and Paranoia".  
  
It was in this room that the bulk of the group lingered. They were all remembering. Uneasy and paranoid their time may have been, but there was nevertheless a general feeling of homesickness. Many held back tears as they stared through exhibits that transported them through time back to their old homes and past selves.  
  
You waded through wobbling smiles to the next, and penultimate, room, titled "The Semi-Permeable Membrane: Dispelling Ancient Rumors Through Human Archaeology".  
  
You were baffled. This was all... human things. You hadn't thought many humans had ever come to Mt. Ebott. The introductory plaque on the wall immediately contradicted your thoughts.  
  
"Despite rumors that humans never returned from Mt. Ebott, many humans actually visited the mountain and left unharmed, as humans tend to do with most mountains,  even the ones purported to be dangerous. Even though only a handful of humans ever actually did fall to the Underground, it was nevertheless the case that numerous campers and naturalists often found their belongings missing. In this room are some such items that fell to us."  
  
"Hey, sweetheart, do you... Do you like it?"  
  
Toriel stood behind you, face full of eager hope.  
  
"Aw, mom, it's really--it truly is wonderful. I'm so proud of you. Really, you've done an amazing job."  
  
She gathered you into a hug.  
  
"But how did you do it? I mean, these glass cabinets, these really professional looking signs, the sheer amount of renovation?"  
  
Toriel shrugged.   
  
"I got a grant a few years back from the embassy. That sped things up quite a bit."  
  
Like it was nothing.   
  
"But mom, I work at the embassy. Surely I would have heard something?"  
  
She shrugged again.  
  
"Hmm. Weird." Was she dismissing you? "Anyway, why were you and Sans so far behind everyone else?"  
  
And now she was turning the magnifier onto you. A classic evasive maneuver. Had she learned it from you or you from her?  
  
You stepped away. Her teacher eyebrow went all the way up.  
  
"Uh, it's a funny story actually,  remind me to tell you all about it later!"  
  
You pretended to be suddenly really interested in a busted up Walkman.  
  
"Ha! Hey, this thing has a Seal CD in it! Oh, it's broken, too, though."  
  
"Uh huh," said Toriel.  
  
You hoped she would show you mercy and drop it, at least for now. You scanned the rest of the room in hopes of finding another distraction--wait, was that a--no, it couldn't be--nope, that was decidedly and unmistakably a neon blue phallus.  
  
Oh, no.  
  
"Uhhhhhhh, mom?"  
  
She followed your gaze.   
  
"Oh! Curious little thing, isn't it? Come look!"  
  
Horrified, you followed your mother to the exhibit in question.  
  
"You know," she said, "when I first saw it I thought it somewhat resembled a crude miniature of--" she glanced behind her. "Well, anyway, now I think it must be some kind of toy!"  
  
You choked.  
  
"Oh! And look what else it does!"  
  
She unlocked the case and removed it, turning it over and switching it on.   
  
"See? It buzzes AND it lights up!"  
  
She handed it to you, so proud of her interesting find.  
  
"Huh." was all you could say.  
  
She bit her lip.  
  
"Oh dear, I'd better go back, I think I just heard crying. I knew I shouldn't have left anyone alone in that room."  
  
She kissed you on the cheek and left you standing holding a vibrating, blue, glowing cock in your hand.   
  
This would simply not do.

 

 


	2. Drop It Like It's Hot Wings

Dazed, it occurred to you in some dim and unruly corner of your mind that the vibrator, especially when switched on and glowing, was approximately the same shade of blue as San--

"Mmm, _nope_!"

You fumbled at the tiny switch on the base, but doing so only made the vibrations stronger. The cursed object fell from your hands and rolled under a bench.

You crouched down to retrieve it, but it was out of reach.

At least you could see it clearly in the shadows.

"Shit..." you muttered as you lay flat on your belly on the cool and slightly damp ground. The ruins, despite being a museum now, were still ruins after all.

Of course it was still a few inches from your fingertips. You stretched a little further, you were so... ugh! close! You dug your fingernail into the silicone rubber and it rolled a centimeter closer to you. It was enough. You had it! You began to shimmy out from under the bench.

"Uhhhhhh. I'd offer to help but it looks like you have it covered. Nice view, by the way."

You bumped your head on the underside of the stone bench.

"Ow! Fuck! Warn me next time, will ya, Sans?"

You stood up and brushed yourself off, yanking your pants up in an extremely dignified manner.

"I tried to. Whatcha got in your hand?"

Oh god.

"What? Oh, it's Nothing."

You hid the offending gadget behind your back. You knew it was childish, but you felt the situation warranted a quick decision, and surely not having to explain why you were holding a glowing sex toy the exact same hue as Sans' magic was preferable to the alternative.

He laughed, an ordinarily pleasant sound you had, for most of your life, associated with feeling relaxed and secure.

"Really? Wow, you are the worst liar."

You were not relaxed and secure now. Rather, you were entirely too aware of the fact that you were alone with him again, you were uncomfortably warm, and you were still holding onto a vibrator.

"It's not even a thing, ok? Don't worry about it."

He raised his eyebrows.

"I have never been so sure that a thing is a thing in my entire life. Hell, now I _have_ to see."

"Well, now you've probably built it up too much in your head, and you're only going to be disappointed, so really I'm doing you a favor. I'm keeping the mystery alive. Forever."

"You're killin' me. I am dyin', ok?"

In your retreat you had backed into an exhibit counter. Maybe if you just could put it on the counter and move away, and then... he'd never know. Or at least he'd have no proof. You set it down, but, as it was still on, it buzzed loudly on the glass top before vibrating itself over the edge and onto the floor.

You both stared at it.

Sans scratched his head, looked at you, and started to say something, but seemed to fail to find the words.

He stared some more, before picking it up between his thumb and his forefinger for closer examination. The worst had happened, so you just stood there, scowling and resting your chin in your hand.

"I don't know what I expected," he said, slowly, gently wiggling the phallus, "but this was... really quite... unpre- _DICK_ -table.”

A muffled BA-DUM tshhh came from his pocket.

"Mom thinks it's a toy," you blurted out, partially to stop yourself from laughing at his pun, and partially because you felt that when one finds oneself caught, in a history museum, hiding a vibrator from someone one has nearly kissed, twice, an explanation of some kind is owed. It was quite a coup from your original decision to hide it, but at least, given the circumstances, the truth was better than letting him draw his own conclusions.

Sans winked. "It IS a toy."

"No! Sans! Like, a children's toy! We have to do something!"

"Ok, ok! For now, let's just put it back where it was and we'll figure it out later, alright? Where's the off switch, do you just twist it or? This should not be this complicated, why are there so many other buttons?!"

"Here, let me, it's on the bottom, but it's the same color as the plastic and it's tiny so--what?"

He could barely contain his amusement.

“It's a little re- _DICK_ -ulous how eager you are to get your hands on it again.”

You snatched it from him and turned it off. “You already made a dick pun, I'm cutting you off.”

He shrugged. “It’s a two-dick-pun kinda situation. Uh, hey. You are gonna hate me for this, but... were you hiding it from me because you thought it might look like...me?"

Even in his mirth you detected a faint blue flush on his cheeks.

"Aw, c'mon, Sans, you don't look that much like a dick!"

His shit-eating grin told you he was enjoying this.

"Not even for a tiny second, did it occur to you to wonder?"

Only the tiniest of seconds.

"I swear to god, Sans, I will...I will..."

You knew your face was betraying you. So what if you had?

"Yeah, that's fair. But just so you know,"

You were going to throttle him.

"If someone did happen to wonder about something like that, I would not judge them for it."

You covered your face with your hands.

"You're right, you're right. Oh, but just one last thing!"

"No. No more things. Not on this highly inappropriate topic, not ever. "

"Heh, you should see your face. You are so cute when you're thinking about murder. Nah, at this point I'm just fuckin' with you."

He leaned in toward you.

"This is gonna be fun."

Oh, he was close again. You felt his breath on your skin. Looking him in the eyes proved difficult so you just stared at his neck, chin, teeth. You could grab his jacket and pull him in and--but no, this was not another invitation to kiss him. And it was a good thing, too, because you weren't sure how many more of those you could refuse before having to decide once and for all whether doing so was a good idea or not. Clearly you had thought it was a decent enough idea a year ago, but alcohol had never been your friend when it came to romantic entanglements.

Hazarding eye contact, you noticed he was apparently not immune to the proximity between you either, judging by the blue flush remaining under his eye sockets. His expression and breathing had changed, too, not unlike your own. You swallowed and thoughtlessly licked your lips. His eyes followed the motion and your heart skipped a beat to see it.

He blinked, took a deep breath, and looked over his shoulder. “I'd, uh, better go find my brother. I'll, uh, cock to ya later!”

“What was that?”

“I said I'll talk to you later!”

He made a hasty retreat from the room, leaving you hot and frustrated and sporting a brand new (and hopefully temporary) twitch in your left eyelid.

There were so many reasons getting involved with Sans was a bad idea. There was his constant traveling, (although honestly you wouldn't mind seeing the rest of the world, yourself) the fact that he had known you since you were 10, and last but certainly not least, the fact that he was a magic sentient skeleton who almost certainly would have killed you on sight had it not been for your now adoptive mother.

There was really only one reason you could think of in favor of it, and that was the fact that you had never successfully managed to get rid of the feelings you'd had for him since high school.

It was easier to pretend they didn't exist when he wasn't around, but when he returned it always threw you off your equilibrium all over again.

You found yourself wondering how long he would be in town this time. You found yourself hoping it would be enough.

The last room of the museum was dark.

There was a screen showing credits and dozens of wooden benches arranged around it. You sat and waited for the video to repeat itself.

It was a slideshow of vignetted antique images of the underground and its inhabitants from ages ago. Some places you recognized, some you didn't. The soundtrack was a bittersweet melody you would swear you had heard before, and before long, you found yourself feeling choked up and nostalgic for the brief time you were here.

"It's a doozy, huh?" said Mettaton in a strangled voice lacking in his usual bravado.

"Oh, I didn't see you there. Yeah, between the "Final Age" exhibit room and this, mom's really laying the pathos on thick."

Some more members of the group filtered in as you sat watching the screen in silence.

The screen went dark but for the plain white text:

"Special thanks to the Monster Embassy for their generosity, hard work, and guidance.

For Frisk: Without a future to look to, we lost our past. Thank you for helping me find it again. I'm so proud of who you've become.

Love, mom."

And the dam broke. Openly weeping in front of all of your friends was not on your to-do list for the day, but it was happening. Somebody handed you a tissue. It was already damp but it helped.

"Where's mom?" you asked tearfully into the dark room.

"I'm right here, sweetie."

She wrapped an arm around you and you rested your head on her shoulder as you calmed down.

Sniffling, you finally stood. Undyne flipped the light switch.

"Who else is ready to get out of here?" said Undyne.

In murmured agreement, everyone headed to the exit. So strange, for there to be an exit in this old trap.

As fading afternoon light spilled into the room, you remembered. You ran back towards the room of human artifacts.

"Oh! I'll be right back, I left my phone, uh, somewhere!" you called over your shoulder.

Okay, decision time. You would just take it, and then you would buy yourself time to find the words to explain to Toriel what it was and why it could not stay in her museum. Decent enough plan.

Only, where the hell were you going to hide it for the walk back?

You jammed it in your pocket. It sort of fit lengthwise, but it left an obviously cock-shaped and -sized bulge.

Maybe if you tucked it into your waistband and covered it with your sweater.

It was mostly concealed. You jumped around a bit to test its integrity and it immediately fell out.

You heard wheezing and whirled around.

Sans was leaning against a display case, hunched in near-silent laughter.

“I take it back, you really do look like a dick, Sans.”

“At least I can keep mine in my pants,” he said, brushing away an imaginary tear and still grinning.

The way he kept taunting you, you were beginning to doubt that much.

“In that case, have you got room for another in there? If you hadn't noticed, I've got nowhere to put this thing.”

“Well, I wouldn't say you have _nowhere_ to put it,” he winked, “but I think I might have some room. Just barely.” He pinched his fingers to show you just how little room he figured he had.

The pockets of his favored basketball shorts were predictably enormous and they concealed the vibrator so completely you weren't sure he hadn't simply dematerialized it somehow.

“Now aren'tcha glad I came back? Who else could you rely on to help you smuggle a vibrator out of a history museum?”

You couldn't help but smile a little. “I would have done it myself, if only my usual cock-smuggling pants weren't at the dry cleaners.”

Sans shrugged. “Oh, sure. Excuse yourself all you want, but some of us come prepared in our cock-smuggling pants. But don't thank me or anything, I'm only the savior of your mom's hopes and dreams.”

You snickered. “What burdens you must face, being such a great hero.” You strolled to the exit door with him, your smile fading.

“Sans? What was today about?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You. All the ‘missed me now you gotta kiss me’, the dick jokes, the flirting? This morning when I woke up, I would have sworn you wanted nothing to do with me after the party last year, so what's up? What’s changed, what are you… trying to do here?”

He stopped, turned, and looked you squarely in the eye, his brow furrowed.

“Make up for lost time.”

You weren't sure exactly what he meant by that, but hearing it was still some relief.

“Well in that case, thank you.” You kissed his cheek and tried to ignore the blush spreading across both of your faces. “I still need some time to think, but I promise we'll talk tomorrow. For now, let's just get home alive.”

The sooner you got home, and away from this whole mess of vibrators and skeletons, the better. A nice, quiet evening with friends, exploding spaghetti, a drink or two, and a bad movie sounded like the best possible medicine for being as emotionally exhausted as you were. You followed the others back to Toriel's and then went back to your apartment.

 

You had fallen asleep on your couch watching a bizarre old movie on TV and were consequently about a half hour late getting to Undyne and Alphys' house. Undyne voiced her displeasure with you immediately upon your arrival.

"We've had to adjust our plans because of your tardiness! And here I was, expecting this guy to be late, only _he_ was actually on time for once!"

She hooked her thumb over her shoulder.

Wait, what guy?

Sans peeked around the door.

"Oh, so you're the one we've been waiting for. They wouldn't tell me, now I know why."

“Undyne, don’t just leave guests standing on the doorstep, that’s rude!” Alphys shouted from the kitchen.

“Lateness is rude,” replied Undyne, narrowing her eye at you.

“I fell asleep.”

“OH, well in THAT case, by ALL MEANS just show up whenever you damn well please!”

She stormed off into the kitchen.

You scratched “nice, quiet evening” off your list.

You stepped inside and shrugged off your coat.

“Do you want me to leave?” asked Sans quietly.

“What? No, why?”

“I didn’t realize they were inviting both of us, I know you said you need time to think and you weren’t planning on seeing me again until tomorrow. I’ll leave if you want.”

“No, stay. It’ll be like old times.” You could even hear the doubt in your voice.

Sans looked unsure, but nodded. You followed him into the kitchen.

Something was missing. What was it?

Alphys and Undyne were yammering at each other about some old anime that had just ended.

Your stomach growled. You hoped they were almost done cook-

“Oh! Spaghetti!” you shouted, causing all five eyes in the room to look at you as if you had just begun speaking in tongues.

That was what was missing! There was no beat-up spaghetti pot on the stove where it usually was when you came for dinner.

Undyne raised an eyebrow. “We’re not having spaghetti tonight.”

You were speechless. Literally every time you had ever come for dinner, there was spaghetti. Granted, it was usually… exploded, or at least explosive, but Undyne always made it for you. You usually ate before you came, but it was the principal of the thing.

You scratched “exploding spaghetti” off your list.

“I know, it’s a little different, but we thought, just for tonight we’d do something special! Something… different!” Alphys clasped her claws together.

“Just for you,” added Undyne. You didn’t like her tone. “It’s a surprise.”

The timer on the oven dinged. Did their oven even work?

“Ooh! They’re ready! Go, go sit down, both of you!” Alphys merrily shooed you and Sans out of the kitchen to the bigger, rarely used table in the dining room.

You sat down, drummed your fingers on the table. The kitchen was hardly soundproof and you could hear Alphys and Undyne whispering animatedly to each other.

“They’re up to something,” said Sans. He’d bridged his fingers and was resting his chin on them. “If I were you, I’d watch your back.”

You had to agree. Some form of mischief was definitely afoot.

Alphys entered the room beaming, oven mitted-claws holding a cookie sheet of fresh, glistening, juicy… chicken wings?

“Super Spicy Red Hot wings, plenty for everyone! Take as many as you want!” sang Alphys.

You speared about seven with your fork and placed them on your plate. It was different, but you weren’t about to complain.

You tucked in eagerly, perhaps too eagerly. The heat began to catch up with you about two wings in. As you reached for your glass of water, you noticed three things.

First, you didn't have a glass of water.

Second, nobody else was eating.

Third, they had all been watching you eat.

You froze. Suspicious, you slowly began to rise from the table to get a drink.

“Oh, Frisk, are you ok?” asked Alphys, grinning.

“Uh, yeah? I'm fine? I'm just a bit thirsty.”

“Oh, I bet you are,” said Undyne, some worrying noises coming from the back of her throat. Was she... laughing? “Don't get up, I'm going to help you… with your… “ she covered her mouth with her hand. “Thirst.”

Ah.

As soon as she was out of sight, you heard a thud in the kitchen and some wheezing.

You shrugged and picked up another wing. If that was the worst they had in store for you, maybe the evening would shape up to be rather pleasant, after all.

You poked a finger through the side of a wing to dislodge a piece of meat. As you brought it up to your mouth, Alphys interrupted you.

“Are you sure you're okay, Frisk?”

She was still acting suspicious. Maybe Sans knew something you didn't. You looked at him to gauge his attitude toward the situation, but the prognosis was grim. He was sweating and gritting his teeth at you.

“Uh, yeah, I'm fine. Sans, what about you, you feeling alright?”

Undyne barked a loud laugh from the kitchen.

“Oh, don't worry about him, he's doing _great_!”

Sans colored deeply and dropped his eyes to his still empty plate.

“I'm glad you're alright, Frisk,” continued Alphys in a frightfully controlled tone, “Because the way you were sucking on those bones, I was worried you were going to get one stuck in your throat.”

The blood drained from your face as you realized what you had been eating, and how.

Alphys went to the kitchen to join Undyne in a fit of excited lesbian giggling.

Fine, fuck the list: no more friends.

Regaining your composure, you wiped your fingers on your napkin, stood, and went to the kitchen to get yourself a god damn glass of water, stepping over the heap of your traitorous friends on the floor.

When you returned, Sans peered at you miserably through his fingers.

“Aw, c’mon, it's not that bad.”

He sat up and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm. You're just upset because you don't have the upper hand anymore. This time, the joke,”

You picked up the remnants of a wing you had already mostly finished and examined it.

“Is on you.”

Perhaps you were being a teensy bit dramatic, but it wasn't like you had any dignity left at this point, anyway.

You nibbled on an end here, licked off some sauce there, watching him the whole time. Of one thing you were sure. If he thought he was uncomfortable before, that was nothing compared to now. This was easily the single most obscene thing you had ever done, and you were enjoying it.

He was not. “You're gonna have to stop that.”

“That's hardly fair. I'm not done eating.”

He slumped back in his chair and glared at the ceiling.

No. For all the shit he gave you this afternoon, he was going to have to cooperate better than that. You plucked up another wing and your courage and moaned as you bit into it.

He nearly came out of his chair.

“I haven't even eaten one and I know that chicken wing is not that good.”

Your composure broke and you started to laugh.

“Sans… Sans I'm sorry, I'm done, I'm done. Let's go watch some Mettaton butt.”

“Why’s the least awful idea anyone’s had all night looking at the robotic ass of someone I’m probably gonna have to talk to at some point?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL ARE SO INCREDIBLY NICE 
> 
> WHY
> 
> I'M JUST A WEIRD SINNER LADY DOING HER BEST 
> 
> In other news I can no longer eat chicken wings, hot or otherwise, without feeling my sins crawling on my back, so there's that. See? I make sacrifices for my craft! (jk, not actually gonna give up chicken wings no matter how dirty and ashamed they make me feel. just... smear barbeque sauce on my soul.)


	3. Déjà Bleu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh
> 
> Here we are
> 
> I'm not ready.
> 
> This is baby's first smut so
> 
> I tried, at least 
> 
> It kinda got away from me 
> 
> I'll add a few tags just in case, so check that out so you can see if there's anything you might want to steer clear of. 
> 
> OH! ALSO! I CAN'T BELIEVE ANY OF YOU STUCK AROUND AFTER THE CHICKEN WINGS LIKE, ARE YOU OKAY? I LOVE YOU BECAUSE YOU'RE WAY TOO NICE TO ME BUT SHOULD I BE CONCERNED

You all agreed that Robocop 5 was a beautiful cinematic failure. Or you would have if Alphys and Undyne had actually been present for any of the major plot points. They kept “accidentally burning the popcorn” (and this obviously required the devoted attention of both of them) for 15-minute stretches at a time, which left you and Sans alone together on the “love seat,” which was actually just a large chair that usually only sat one person. The two of them had each staked a claim over precisely half of the sofa and, on the rare occasion they were actually in the room, they would shoo you or Sans off of it if either of you had moved to occupy the empty spot. So no, their take on Robocop 5 didn’t really count because they hadn’t actually seen it yet, except for the part where, yes, they really did show Mettaton’s butt and you made damn sure they were both there to see that, at least.

At some point, you had relaxed enough to decide that, at least for the moment, being shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip with the one your best friends were obviously playing dirty to set you up with was not the worst thing to ever happen. As you settled back into the chair, your head bumped Sans’ arm, slung not-so-casually over the top. He didn’t move it for the rest of the movie.

The second the credits began to roll, Sans stood and made quite a dramatic show of stretching for someone with no muscles. “Welp, that’s my cue. Guess I’m gonna go home now.” He made for the door.

“Uh, wait do you--do you want a ride home?”

He rubbed his shoulder and seemed to consider it for a moment. “Yeah, sure.”

“Ok, just wait a minute, I’m going to go tell the amazing Phylum twins we’re leaving. I think they fell asleep in there.”

As you suspected, they were passed out on the kitchen table, a bowl of half-burnt popcorn uneaten between them. Deciding it would be mean but justified (but still mean) to leave them there, you gently woke them. “Hey, go to bed, we're leaving.”

Alphys drowsily wiped some drool off her chin. “Woah, t-together? Babe, we did it!”

“You did nothing, I'm just giving him a ride.”

“Ride ‘em in,” said Undyne. “Rawhide.” They sleepily high-fived each other. 

“You are no longer my friends,” you told them, ushering them down the hallway. 

“You always say that when we do something nice for you.”

“Just wait, hon,” said Undyne, opening the bedroom door. “They'll come crawling back to us in a day or so, just like they always do.”

Just before she closed the door behind her, she called out for the entire neighborhood to hear, “USE PROTECTION!”

Murder, you reminded yourself, and not for the first time that evening, is a dish best served cold. 

Or was that not the saying? 

“Uh,” said Sans when you emerged from the hallway. 

“Sleepwalking.” you answered simply. “...And... sleep...talking. Shall we?”

The drive to Sans and Papyrus’ house was ordinarily not a long one, but it was as silent as it was tense and the darkness seemed to eat up any remnants of the relaxed atmosphere you had so delicately cultivated while the movie had been playing.

You pulled up alongside the curb and parked. You sat, motionless, in silence for a moment before Sans cleared his throat.

“Listen, I’m not trying to press my luck or anything, but do you wanna come in for a nightcap?”

You weren’t sure if you had been expecting that or not.

“Shit, I mean, not that we have any booze. Or coffee. Or tea, or soda or milk or… uh, I think our tap still works. Do y- uh, do you wanna come in for a glass of tap water? Aw, fuck, I’m sorry. Forget it.”

“No, no, I’ll come in. For a minute.” There were so many other things you could have said. “Thanks, but I’m tired and I need to go home. Talk to you tomorrow!” or “Nope, not a good idea. Bye forever!” or even “Fuck off.”

But you didn’t _want_ to refuse; your sense of self-preservation was nowhere to be found.

All the lights were off in the house.

“Uhhh, bro? You here?”

There was a note on the fridge, but Sans was checking Papyrus’ room. You read it.

“Hey, Sans? Do you think your brother knows what ‘Netflix and chill’ means?”

“Is that not what it sounds like?” he asked, joining you in the kitchen. “Why?”

You handed him the note. 

“Since when does he hang out with Mettaton? Eh, so what does it mean? Been overseas, if you’ll recall.”

“It's a booty call. With the pretense of watching television. So… If he didn't know, he probably does by now.”

Sans stared at you. 

“Ah. So it's exactly what it sounds like. Now I wish I hadn't asked.”

You grimaced. “Sorry.”

He scratched his head. 

“So how long have my brother and Met--actually no, that’s a question for another day. You want that glass of water?”

He slapped the note face down on the counter and opened a cabinet. Boxes of spaghetti noodles.

“Alphys and Undyne got into a fight back in June and Undyne came and rearranged the kitchen to calm down. She hit my apartment, too.”

You still had trouble finding things.

“Oh, yeah. Pap mentioned that a while ago. So where’d she put the glasses?”

He opened cabinets at random.

“Oh, let me. If it's like at my apartment, they should be--oh!”

You had nearly collided in your haste, but Sans stepped aside so quickly that it sent you reeling backwards. The sharp corner of the counter jabbed into your lower back, just to the left of your tailbone. You yelped. 

“Oh, shit! Frisk, are you okay?”

Rubbing the sore spot, you grimaced.

“I'm fine, it's only pain. Ow.”

“Shit, shit. Lemme--shit.” 

Sans rummaged through drawers until he found a towel. He reached into the freezer and pulled out a large chunk of ice that had frozen into a lump. He wrapped the lump in the towel. 

“Do you want to, uh… or should I?”

“Don't worry, it's honestly not that bad, just, um. What does it look like?”

You lifted up the back of your sweater.

“Shit, um, it's already turning brown, uh, let me just--”

He put the ice pack on the bruise without warning.

“Woooah, that's cold. Warn me next time.”

“Sorry, sorry. Shit.”

You stood there in near silence for about a minute, only the sound of the refrigerator running and Sans occasionally hissing another curse at himself. The ice was beginning to hurt more than it helped, and the bruise hadn't even hurt enough to merit its use in the first place.

You glanced over your shoulder to find Sans staring intently at the ice pack, jaw clenched tight. 

“It's too cold.” He didn't seem to hear you. “Sans?”

He jumped. “Right, sorry.” he threw the towel and the ice lump in the sink.

“It's all purple now.”

“Yeah, probably. I bruise easily. I'm really fine, though. I've had worse. Promise.”

You poked at it. “See? Doesn't even hurt that much anymore.”

He traced a few fingers along the edges of the spreading mark. You shivered and involuntarily closed your eyes. 

“Ah! Your--your fingers are cold. From the ice,” you laughed nervously. 

“Oh.” He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets.

“This isn't.” He sighed. “This isn't how I imagined things would go. I mean, none of it. Today, this past year, even the party last year. I'd even count some stuff before that if I knew where to start. I'm sorry.”

“Listen, the party and this past year were my fault-”

“Half.”

“If you say so. And actually, except for a few hiccups, I've enjoyed today. So don't be sorry. I'm just glad you're here and you don't hate me. Even if you do seem to have left your good sense and common decency in… Greenland, or Belize, or wherever.”

He looked up at you, finally, and grinned. 

“I can't _Belize_ you would say that to my face.”

You groaned.

“I also can't Belize you honestly thought I hated you.”

He wasn't smiling anymore, and neither were you.

“You left the very next day. I mean…” you shrugged.

“I know. I didn't leave because of you, if that's what you thought. I already had my ticket and everything, but I should’ve talked to you about it before I left, only there wasn't time and it just didn't seem like the kind of thing to have a phone conversation about, and... I don't know. I wasn't sure you'd even remember trying to kiss me since you were so drunk. I should’ve called anyway. It was shitty of me to leave you hanging, and… I'm sorry.”

He was rambling, your heart was utterly misbehaving, and looking him in the eyes had become difficult again, so you took a step toward him and took his hand in yours, making a study of his joints and rubbing your thumb over his knuckles thoughtfully. 

“What would you have said?”

He didn't answer for a long moment.

“I hope you've figured out by now that the only reason I stopped you from kissing me last year was because you were drunk. Well, that and I didn't wanna find out the next day that you regretted it. That woulda sucked.”

You smiled. “I regretted it, anyway.”

“I know.” He dropped his hand from yours. You glanced up at him and instantly found that it was still too much to look him in the eyes, but now that you had, you couldn't look away, either. You simply allowed yourself to be overwhelmed. 

“Would you regret it now? Tomorrow?”

You grinned. “Not unless you give me a reason to.”

His jaw twitched. “I haven’t got any of those on me tonight. Fresh out, sorry.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake--Sans-”

You rushed at him and grabbed his jacket, pulling him to you until your bodies met. He bent his head and you pressed several fervent kisses against his teeth, the side of his mouth, his cheekbone. It was all a bit alien to you, but it didn't bother you, precisely. How could it, when you had been waiting for so long? Still, it was learning to kiss all over again.

“I'm sorry about the, uh, lips… thing.” He murmured.

Apparently he, too, had noticed that you had no idea what you were doing. So you had two options. You could be embarrassed about it and call it a night, perhaps locate your brain when you got home and give yourself a proper self-flagellation once you remembered all the reasons why getting involved with Sans was a bad idea (surely there were still some, but you just couldn't remember at the moment). OR you could decide right here and now to make up for your lack of skeletal sexual experience with enthusiasm.

Well, enthusiasm was one word for it.

“That's okay,” you whispered, trying to disguise the nervous lumpiness in your voice, “I'll just have to find other places to kiss you.” 

That seemed to do it. He tugged your hips by your belt loops until they ground against his. “Oh, I hope you mean that,” he said in a rough voice you barely recognized.

He nuzzled your neck, but to your already shot nerve endings it was painterly, artisanal seduction. The topography of his face was sharp, protruding, recessed, alternatively rough and smooth. It pricked and scraped and tickled and caressed and it was not fair. It changed the game on you entirely, and your enthusiasm was becoming a problem much more quickly than you had anticipated. It was turning you into something wild and sticky.

You thrust your hands under his shirt and you couldn't tell if his ribs were cool to the touch or if you were just very, very warm. When you had kissed his face, his cheek had felt smooth and polished under your lips but these bones were not as worn. They were chalky and slightly rougher and you couldn't help weaving your fingers in and out.

He had gone still and it occurred to you that you might be hurting him.

“Sans, are you--am I hurting you?”

“No, no. It, uh,” he cleared his throat, “I'm just normally really ticklish, but right now it feels, um. Uh. Heh.”

Good. You could use that information later. Maybe. Assuming there was a later. 

“Well in that case…” you let your fingertips just drift along the outer surface of his ribs, featherlight. He clutched at your waist, your neck, drawing you tighter still. You needed to distract yourself from the lovely way his fingers dug into your flesh over your sweater, from the way he was working your throat, your collarbone, your earlobe into a network of white noise nerves.

There was a vertebra just peeping out of the collar of his shirt that was in need of a kiss. Up close, he smelled of citrus and char and when your tongue met bone, he tasted like salt, lemons, and something bitter and mineral. You felt his breath hitch there. 

His pointed fingers inched their way under and up your sweater. They, too, were cool against your skin but by no means did his touch leave you cold. If you shivered, that was for a different reason altogether. 

As his hands rose higher and higher, your sweater bunched under his wrists. You were too warm, what good was a sweater doing you anyway? For that matter, what good were his jacket and shirt doing him? 

It needed to come off, all of it.

You broke from him, both of you panting and flushed and shaky.

“Do you want to stop?” he frowned.

You pulled your sweater up and over your head, your nipples tightening with the sudden cold. You wet your lips. “No.”

Even if he had been wearing sunglasses, they would not have been able to disguise his staring. His eyes were glowing too brightly for that. You loved it. He did not take his eyes off of you for a single second as he slowly shed his coat, followed by another excruciating five seconds of removing his shirt. 

The second the fabric touched the floor you came together again, this time flesh against bone, and madly so.

He backed you into the refrigerator door, rocking his hips against yours. There was definitely _something_ there, _hard_ proof that at least forty something percent of your daydreams concerning him were headed in the right direction, and you wanted more of it rubbing against you. 

You hooked your leg around him to provide him with better access, and while dry humping in earnest was a vast improvement over nothing at all, you quickly became frustrated with how much clothing there still was between you where it really counted. And you wanted to see.

“Sans, can we--”

Sans scraped his bottom teeth over your nipple while gently plucking at the other, and you let out a loud moan you had been holding back.

“Mmm-hmm?” he asked, switching to your other nipple.

The back of your head hit the fridge.

“Um, I'd really like to--oh, fuck, I-”

You gasped audibly. He had stuck his hand down the front of your jeans and slipped a finger right down the center of you, each knuckle rubbing your clit as his fingertip slid further between your wet folds. 

“Hmm, didn't catch that, couldja repeat yourself?” he said against your throat.

You struggled to remember to breathe, but when the burst of oxygen finally hit your brain, you realized with annoyance that he was toying with you.

“Sans,” you growled, plunging your hand into his shorts and fisting around a surprisingly quite tangible and magnificently girthy--well, you had always suspected as much--cock. 

“Pants,” you finished, stroking him once for punctuation.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he nearly blinded you.

“Point taken. Bedroom?”

You nodded.

“I know a shortcut.”

You blinked and you were in his room, which was surprisingly quite clean. Evidently he had not yet unpacked.

“Was that really necessary?”

He switched on a lamp on the dresser beside you and closed the door. Your hand was still in his shorts.

“Uh, yeah.” His eyes flicked down to your hand and back up again. “Obviously.”

He put his hands on your shoulders.

“Listen, do you remember how blue magic works?”

“Something about stop signs?” it had been such a long time, and frankly, you weren't much in the mood for conversation.

He sighed. “Uh, basically, yeah. If you don't move, it doesn't touch you, right? So, if we're really gonna do this,”

He unbuttoned your pants and shucked them to the floor, along with your underwear.

“please,”

He dropped his own shorts.

You stroked him once more, admiring the way the soft blue glow filtered through the cracks in your fingers.

“ _please_ ,” he ground out through gritted teeth, “don't stop moving.”

You wanted to hear him when he ate those words.

You kissed his sternum and ribs on the way down, grabbing his pelvis as your knees hit the carpet.

“Are you sure about that? If at any time you want to take that back, let me know immediately.”

With that warning, you began a meandering, teasing path of sloppy, wet kisses from an iliac crest all the way down until your cheek brushed his cock.

“Don't get too _cheeky_ , now,” he wheezed, eyes wide and watchful. 

“Are you sure you should be cracking jokes at a time like this?”

You ran a fingernail along the length of his shaft.

“Hhh, well, uh, you loved it.”

You licked a bead of precome off the tip and he jerked.

“You’re lucky I did.”

It had been a while since you’d done this, maybe a year? So you took a moment to get acquainted, sweet little kisses at the base, then a more thorough examination of the surface with your tongue in broad, slow strokes. It wasn't bone and it wasn't skin and it wasn't marble or glass. But it was wet with your spit and it tasted like him and musk and it felt like your new favorite thing, so you decided you’d teased quite enough.

You took him into your mouth slowly at first. You wanted him to feel every new millimeter your lips claimed. It wasn’t until you were pulling back that you felt your hair just barely stir at his touch. Generally you kept it much shorter these days, but you hadn’t been back for a haircut in a little over a month and it was starting to get shaggy. For the moment, you were glad.

Soon he was several knuckles deep in your hair, but no matter how much you sped up or how hard you bobbed your head, he was gentle, careful. Restrained, you thought.

“You can.” You swallowed and cleared your throat. “Uh, you can pull. I mean, if you want.”

Slightly embarrassed, you shut yourself up by taking most of his length in one long push.

He took a small fistful in his grasp, still gentle, still careful, but markedly less so now and in doing so filled you with considerable relief. You waited for the usual sting of shame that generally followed, but it didn’t come. You only felt better.

You worked on him with renewed vigor, quickening your pace until suddenly his grip tightened.

“Stop, stop. Not yet, I don’t wanna--hff”

He panted, untangling his fingers from your hair, eyes shut tight, fearful that just one more second of looking at you there on your knees would end it all too soon.

A beat, and he opened them again, blazing at your self-satisfied grin. 

“I thought you didn’t want me to stop?” You stood slowly, rising to his height and then some.

He pulled you to him and the mineral hardness, the delicate precision of his tapered fingertips digging into the flesh of your ass--it was so different than being handled by the clumsy approximating human hands you were used to. Arousal speared through your gut and sent your clit throbbing.

“All that, just to prove a point, huh?” he guided you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed. “S-such a control freak.”

You intended to protest--no need for name calling--but then you were falling backwards on the bed and being hauled by your calves until your hips were right at the edge and Sans was on the floor on his knees and your knees were on his shoulders and the way he was looking at your body and in your eyes like what he found there was an answer robbed you of any cheap words you might have used. 

He stroked the backs of your thighs until you were squirming and your breathing was more kin to a hiccup or a death rattle, or somewhere in between. You were so close to begging, even though you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, when he finally slid a finger inside you. It was effortless, you knew, because you were already so far gone and far too close. He crooked his finger and you dug your heels into the back of his ribcage. Evidently he took that as his cue and nuzzled his face firmly against your slick folds. You ground against him, hardly able to stop yourself. When he grazed his teeth on your clit and you cried out and bucked so hard you nearly came off the bed, you knew you couldn’t take much more.

Trouble was, you couldn’t even speak but in a moan.

“Saans, stop stop sstop.” He pulled away, leaving you cold and messy. His face was, by turn, shiny and wet.

Your eyes met over the length of your torso and he cocked his head at you. You swallowed.

“Fuck me.”

He crawled into bed with you.

“‘Sthe magic word?” he mumbled against your skin. Exasperated and so, so needful of so many things, you slammed your head back into the covers.

“ _Or else_.”

He looked surprised for a moment. “Uh, yeah, a-all right.”

You didn’t need much time to adjust to his size. You were so ready. Too ready. You didn’t have much time, by your body’s estimation.

You urged him faster, harder, and he obliged, but not like you wanted.

You cried out in frustration. “Sans, _please_!”

“Aw, fuck, _there_ it is!” he growled, grabbing onto whatever he could of you to keep you steady while he slammed into you.

Maybe you should have opened with the magic word after all because ah, yes, _this_ is what you wanted.

You didn’t stop moving. You didn’t want to stop moving, and you probably couldn’t have if you’d tried. You clutched at the covers, arched your back, held onto his ribcage for dear life; it all felt right.

Locking eyes, you slid a hand between you and massaged your clit, once, twice-- six times total before your whole body convulsed. Like falling.

You couldn’t even say his name, you just hissed: _ss-ssss._

Unfortunately for you, his cries of “Oh, hell, Frisk- fuck- yeah” were mostly drowned out by the incredible noise now filling your head. Or was that you making those noises? But you were pretty sure it went something like that, if the fact that you could feel his cock pulsating inside you was any indication.

He rolled off of you and you looked at each other, spent and shaking.

“We still have to talk, don’t we?” he asked on a sigh.

You nodded.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow. Good night, Sans.”

“Night, Frisk.”


	4. What The Frisk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY NOT SORRY FOR ALL THE PAPYTON HAAA

You awoke at 6:03 the next morning to the sound of a door slamming and Papyrus’ voice pitching wildly all the way into his room, followed by some thudding noises against the shared wall.

You shook Sans’ arm. “Sans. Sans.”

He made a face and pushed his head into his pillow.

You smacked the back of his pelvis. “Dude, seriously, wake up.”

He rolled onto his back. “Ten minutes, ‘kay Pap?”

Speak of the devil, Papyrus was now banging on Sans’ bedroom door and you, for one, wanted to have clothes on when it came off the hinges or splintered in two. You straddled him in an attempt to reach the far side of the bed, but before you could dismount, bony hands grabbed your ass.

“Oh, it's this dream again, huh?”

You froze. He had one eye open, but it fluttered shut again. He adjusted his hips under you and flung an arm over his head.

“SANS! SANS YOU LAZYBONES I--YOU PICKED THE WORST POSSIBLE DAY TO SLEEP IN! LISTEN, I CALL UPON YOU IN THE NAME OF BROTHERLY CHIVALRY FOR A… A MANLY, COOL CHIT CHAT, OK? OH DEar god please help. SANS! WAKE! UP!”

Sans’ eyes flew open. “Uh, sure thing bro, I'll be there in two minutes, kay? Just hold on.”

You rolled off him and wrestled on your pants on the floor.

“AND WHY ARE THERE CLOTHES ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR? I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THIS PLACE WOULD BE A HUGE MESS AS SOON AS YOU GOT HERE, I--WELL, THIS ISN'T YOURS.”

 _Shit._ You looked at Sans, horrified and helpless. He leapt out of bed and tugged on his shorts faster than you had ever seen him move.

“Uhh, just stay right there, I’ll pick ‘em up!”

Sans flung open the door and almost crashed into Papyrus, who was standing in the doorway.

“HA! THAT’LL BE A FIRST.” He peered into the room. “OH. _OH_. GOOD MORNING, FRISK. I BELIEVE THIS IS YOURS.”

Averting his eyes, Papyrus tossed your sweater to you, shoved the bundle of Sans’ shirt and jacket at his brother, and bolted back into the kitchen, his skull roughly the same color as his scarf. If he were wearing it. This morning, he was dressed in baggy grey sweats with marinara stains on them. You had never seen him so disheveled and you had a good guess the reason’s name rhymed with-

“I’m gonna get a gun.”

“ _Sans_ ,” you admonished, turning your sweater around so it was on correctly this time. “Let’s hear what Paps has to say about it before we jump to any conc-”

“You’re right, this is my fault.”

“Well, that’s definitely not what I said but-”

“I should’ve called him last night as soon as you told me what he was doing over there, I could have come and gotten him, or, I dunno.” He zipped up his jacket. “If we hadn’t been so busy last night, maybe he wouldn’t be dealing with this right now. I mean, not that I blame you. Again, it’s my fault. If I were a better brother, or…shit, a better person in general… last night would have gone differently. I'm sorry.”

You blinked. Well, you’d been rejected in worse ways before. Or at least, you thought you had. None sprang to mind at that moment. Then again, 24 hours ago you’d have told yourself that in the event of sex with Sans, it being labeled a mistake after the fact was an inevitability. You had simply since forgotten that the words might come from him. You didn’t want to hear any more, and anyway, there was somebody in the kitchen wearing grungy clothes, desperately in need of a heart-to-heart with his brother.

Although you were relatively sure Sans hadn’t meant to hurt you, you were no longer feeling welcome. It was time to go.

“Go talk to your brother, Sans. _Then_ decide if an ass-whooping is in order.” You patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’m going to go home and take a shower, I feel… gross. Um, thanks for…”

Thanks for the sex which he now regrets? Thanks for the glass of water you never drank? Thanks for a weird as hell, confusing afternoon?

“Well, anyway. I’ll get out of your hair,” you said, already making your way to the kitchen. “Bye, Papyrus, good to see you again.”

Papyrus clotheslined you with an outstretched arm while remaining completely focused on the pot of boiling water.

“OH NO, YOU DON’T, AMIGO. ALSO THAT IS A NONSENSE IDEA BECAUSE WE HAVE NO HAIR. EXCEPT WIGS. WE HAVE WIGS IN CASE OF UNDERCOVER EMERGENCIES.”

You picked yourself up off the floor and saw the water begin to boil over. You realized he wasn’t so much staring at the pot, as he was staring through it. You reached over and turned the heat down. Breakfast should not be cooked when one is frazzled about sex. Personally, you were planning to go home and eat a cold pop-tart. Even a toaster seemed a bit risky at the moment.

“BROTHER, THERE'S BEEN A CHANGE OF PLANS. I AM NO LONGER IN NEED OF YOUR BROTHERLY CHIVALRY. FRISK AND I ARE GOING FOR A WALK.” He pulled you along out the front door so quickly you barely had time to register Sans’ surprised expression and give him a shrug.

The weather was a little cooler than the day before and you wouldn't have minded another shirt on under your sweater, but the sun was shining and the wind was still, so you let the crisp morning air wake you. You had a feeling you would need your wits about you to get through this conversation.

“FRISK, YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY DATED MANY OTHER HUMANS, CORRECT?”

Dated, yes. Many? Debatable. Humans, not always. And successfully? That heavily depended on one's definition of success, and even then, you would need the benefit of the doubt. So, short answer? “Yes, absolutely.”

“EXCELLENT. IN THAT CASE, I SHALL BEQUEATH TO YOU MY TITLE OF LOCAL DATING EXPERT.”

“Oh, umm-”

“AND AS DATING EXPERT, I HUMBLY REQUEST YOUR GUIDANCE.”

“Okay, well, uh… So what happened with Mettaton, Pap?”

He gasped. “WOWIE, FRISK! I THINK THAT TITLE GAVE YOU PRETERNATURAL ABILITIES! YOU CUT RIGHT TO THE HEART OF THE MATTER! HOW DID YOU EVEN KNOW METTATON AND I WERE DATING? THAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE A SECRET!”

A young couple walking their dog looked at the two of you incredulously as they passed.

“Actually I just read the note you left for Sans.”

“AH, YES. ‘NETFLIX AND CHILL,’ FRISK. ARE YOU AWARE OF THE MEANING OF THIS?”

You nodded. “Are you?”

“OF COURSE I AM! I AM A VERY COOL GUY AND VERY HIP TO WHAT ALL THE YOUTHS ARE SAYING. WHAT, YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME? WELL LET ME ASK YOU THIS! WHO DO YOU THINK SUGGESTED IT IN THE FIRST PLACE? THIS COOL GUY!”

He grinned and poked his chest with his thumb.

You were unable to hide your surprise.

“So… what actually happened, then?”

“NOTHING! THAT'S THE PROBLEM! WHEN THE MOVIE WAS OVER, HE PUT SHEETS AND BLANKETS ON THE COUCH AND LET ME SLEEP THERE! WE WATCHED THE ENTIRETY OF ROBOCOP 5 AND THAT WAS THE MOST ACTION WITH METTATON I GOT ALL EVENING! WAS I NOT CLEAR? DID I MESS SOMETHING UP? DO I NEED TO MAKE MYSELF MORE ATTRACTIVE THAN I ALREADY AM? YOU CAN SEE WHY I NEED THE SAGE ADVICE OF OUR LOCAL DATING EXPERT!”

He had transitioned somewhere in there from his usual loud speech to shouting in earnest. You were not prepared for this. You weren't sure anything could have prepared you for this.

“You aren't _mad_ at him about this, right Pap?”

He sighed. “NO, I'M NOT MAD. IT WAS… IT WAS A VERY NICE EVENING. IT'S ALWAYS A VERY NICE EVENING. I SIMPLY DON'T UNDERSTAND. HE SENDS OUT ALL THE RIGHT SIGNALS, WEARING CLOTHES ON OUR DATES AND MAKING ME SPAGHETTI AND TELLING ME HOW COOL I AM AND REMINDING ME HOW TALENTED AND POPULAR HE IS, I-- I MEAN, IT MUST BE ME, RIGHT?”

He rubbed his skull, looking at the clouds. You had almost made a complete block, and as the two of you rounded the corner, stomping through dewy grass, Papyrus’ house came into view.

“I'm sure it's not you. I'll admit, it doesn't sound much like him, but you know him better than I do. If I had to guess, though, I'd say he's probably nervous to make a move because he actually cares about you.”

Papyrus blushed again.

“But um, either way, nothing will happen if you don't talk to him about it.”

Hearing yourself say that made you angry. Hypocrite! Who spent the last year _not_ talking about it? Who could already feel a new, colder silence settling over last night and stretching for more?

Then again, maybe there really was nothing to talk about with Sans.

“YOU WEAR THAT TITLE SO WELL, AMIGO. I'M PROUD. WELL! HERE WE ARE. WANNA COME INSIDE FOR BREAKFAST? UNLESS THERE'S SOMETHING ELSE YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT! LIKE WHY I WALKED IN ON YOU AND MY BROTHER THIS MORNING?”

For that matter, there was nothing more to talk about with Papyrus, either. You had never seen him look smug before; he must have picked that up from Mettaton. Now it was really time to go.

“Yeah, gonna take a rain check on that, buddy. I really do need a shower. And talk to your brother, pretty sure he assumed the worst and I know for a fact he's in there, stewing on how to kill your new boyfriend.”

Papyrus waved a hand dismissively. “LET HIM STEW. WE'LL HAVE BONE SOUP FOR LUNCH! NYEH HEH HEH!”

You got in your car and went home in a daze, trying hard not to be burnt about the whole morning. It was too late, though. By the time you pulled into your parking space, you were bitter char.

What was that bullshit line he'd fed you last night about running out of reasons to regret? What was the theme of last night's whole conversation if not _not_ regretting? And what did he do at the first sign of trouble?

“Sorry, kiddo, guess I didn't realize I needed to get my stupid fucking skull together before fucking you!”

You realized your best Sans impression sounded closer to Pauly Shore and that just made you even angrier. You slammed your car door shut and trudged up the stairs to your apartment.

The microwave clock said 6:56 AM. Maybe… maybe if you slept it off. You could just shower when you got up. You kicked off your shoes and fell, starfish-style, on the cool sheets.

You woke up at 1:00 PM, groggy, disoriented, somehow twice as greasy as you'd been when you left the skeletons that morning, and still seething. Why couldn't sleep ever just fix your problems like you wanted?

You huddled under the covers for another hour or so before finally braving the cold air, stripping down and running a bath. The day was already a waste and there was no point being in a hurry.

You sat in the tub as it filled, soothed by the sound of running water smattering on the drain. You closed the shower curtain to keep the steam in and rested your head against the tiled wall.

You had fallen asleep so quickly the night before and you'd been so angry that morning, you hadn't had a chance yet to process everything that had happened in the last eight hours.

You willed yourself _not_ to think about it because god dammit, you were still so mad, but as the water rose around your hips and the steam condensed on your skin, your heated body seemed to dwell on the memory with very little assistance from the angry part of your brain. You clamped your knees together and slid further underwater.

What now?

You had gotten what you wanted, but had never prepared for the aftermath. This was messy, this wasn't like any of the scenarios you had imagined where everything was easy and Sans desperately wanted to be with you and you could just talk out your feelings (like that was something either of you were ever any good at). You dunked your hair under the water and listened to the rumble of the pipes in the building, everything sounding so far off and deep and slow. You closed your eyes, remembering the very first time you realized you had a crush on him. It had taken somebody else to spell it out for you.

Sophomore year, Toriel had managed to rope him into being a chaperone on your band’s spring trip after Undyne cancelled on her with a stomach virus. He was less than pleased about it, and he was absolutely the worst chaperone on the entire trip, or the best, depending on one's perspective. If your group had any reservations about him being a skeleton, they were quelled when your friends realized on the first day just how little he actually cared how they spent their free time. He showed up, more or less on time, when the schedule demanded it, and for most of the rest of the day he was nowhere to be found.

The second day of the trip, the whole band went to a water park after performing. You were looking forward to getting into splash fights and flirting with everyone in sight, but you had slipped on a slimy patch of concrete and twisted your ankle on the way down. Your friends helped you hobble over to a picnic table, cooed over you, bought you a frozen lemonade, called Sans, and left you to your misery. “No, no, you guys go on and have fun, I don't want to spoil it,” you lied.

You were digging with the wooden paddle, carving Xs into the yellow ice, one for each friend who had abandoned you, when you heard a chair scrape on the concrete next to you. “You don't have to stay with me, I'm fine,” you muttered.

“Whoops! Sorry, Fine, musta tracked down the wrong moody teenager. I thought you were Frisk.”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile.

“Your ankle all right? It's not swelling or anything, I mean?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. Maybe Tori won't kill me as much.”

By the time you were finished with your frozen lemonade, you and Sans had covered a staggering number of topics. Your friends had come back to check on you a few times and you had waved them away, wanting to get rid of them so you could get back to your conversation with Sans. You had never hung out with him quite like this. Sure, he showed up to big events and things mom invited him to, but since you broke the barrier, you'd never really had a reason to just sit and talk with him.

By the time you had to limp back to the bus, you were not in the least bit jealous of your friends, who were now all sunburnt and exhausted and missing flip-flops and complaining about sore feet and petty squabbles.

And by the time the charter bus was headed back to Ebott Valley, you found yourself unable to converse with any of your friends without bringing up his name, or relating the conversation back to him. Monster Kid cornered you about it when the bus stopped for gas and a bathroom break.

“You wanna tone it down a bit about your little crush maybe?”

“It's not a crush, M.K., I just… it just took me a while to realize how cool he is.”

M.K. nodded to where he was standing, one of his jokes clearly falling flat with several of the parents.

“So maybe not _cool_ exactly, but… you know!”

“Definitely not a crush then?” they raised an eyebrow. You swallowed, turning red. “Just tone it down. I've got your back, but I can't help you if it gets around, all right?”

That was, what, about nine years ago? One might expect a crush from high school to go away eventually. At that moment especially, you wished it had. You were not hurt. You were just pissed.

And maybe a little bit hurt.

Or maybe a lot a bit. Didn't matter. You were an adult. You could handle this. This was just some standard, everyday haha-whoops-we-had-sex-last-night-which-he-in-no-uncertain-terms-said-he-now-regrets angst, and you would deal with it. Maybe after you got out of the bath and got some clothes on. Your fingers were pruny.

Toweling off, you checked your phone to find a voice message. From Mettaton. You couldn't remember the last time he'd called. You played the message on speaker while you brushed your teeth.

“Good afternoon, darling, you know, I've just had lunch with your mother and it was really quite interesting! Did you know she's very upset? Did you know that this morning when she went back to her museum to make some final preparations for the public opening tomorrow, she stumbled upon a crime scene? Oh, dear, she's just devastated over the loss of her artifact, poor thing! She described it to me and I was just remembering seeing you holding it when you were talking to, well, to someone who appeared to have something to say about it.”

You stared wide-eyed at your own reflection, toothpaste foam dribbling down your chin. You hadn't thought anyone else had seen, but then… he had been in the last room already when you got there.

“Well, I just thought you should know! I don't work for the news but I imagine it will be all over the headlines tonight! I can hear it now- Priceless Artifact Stolen from Monster Museum by _World's Thirstiest Human_!”

He cackled.

“Oh, don't you worry, I won't give you up _just_ yet. You're much too fun! Anyway, byee!”

You deleted the message. Oh, no.

You needed to talk to Sans. Well, eventually. It could wait, probably. Hopefully. It would have to. You had important things to take care of today.

 

* * *

 

 

After several hours of dawdling, you grew hungry, your stomach evidently malcontent with the single pop tart you'd eaten for “lunch”. You opened the refrigerator hoping for magic, and getting none. You were out of food.

Having watched the story of the missing (as yet unnamed, thank god) artifact circulate on your Facebook feed, you had absolutely zero desire to go to the local supermarket and have half the town accost you and tell you to give their sympathies to your mother. So you drove in the other direction, out of town to the closest Wal-Mart.

You hit the frozen foods aisle first. You were mostly concerned about dinner for the immediate future. Pizza? Pizza rolls? Bagel bites? Hot Pockets?

All gross but delicious. Just like you.

Your phone buzzed against your thigh.

 **Sans:** Seen the news lately?

 **You:** Yeah, uh. We need to talk. Like, business talk.

As you reached for the box of Hot Pockets, he called you.

“I didn't mean right now, dude.”

“Hello to you too. Uh…”

He let the pause stretch.

“Um, listen, I think maybe we need to talk about some stuff that isn't business, too. Where are you?” He sounded nervous. Good.

“I'm at Wal-Mart.”

“All the way out in Barton Bluff? Why?”

“Well, you know how it is. I suddenly had this really intense urge to go buy a bunch ‘a knives and some Miracle Gro, and I didn't wanna go to two stores, so. Ya know.”

He went chillingly silent for a moment. “It's actually kinda astounding how not funny that was.”

You tried to sound normal despite your stomach having lodged in your throat and suddenly remembering what being in trouble used to feel like.

You needed to piss him off more often. Or maybe never, ever again, it was a tough call.

“Um, anyway, yeah. I just wanted to shop without running into everyone I know.”

He audibly relaxed. “Oh, well nevermind. I was just gonna invite you to come meet me at Grillby’s and maybe we could, um, y’know talk, but if you're lookin’ to avoid townsfolk, that's not the place to do it and we can just do it another time if you even want to.”

“No, we should do it tonight.”

“We should?”

“Yeah, I mean um. Mettaton knows it was me. Or us, I guess. And who knows how long we've got until he says something so I really need to get...that thing from you and uh. Yeah. I can be there in 20 minutes?”

“Right. Yup. See ya then, it'sadate.”

He hung up so quickly it startled you.

You left the store empty-handed. You were still mad at him, you reminded yourself. You dredged up your anger as you got in your car.

It was just a different kind of anger, the kind that made you so sweaty and nervous you turned up the air conditioning in your car even though it was in the forties and damp outside. The excited and anticipatory kind of angry that left you with a big grin on your face in spite of yourself.

You just wanted an apology and to get the vibrator back. And a burger. Once you got those things, you would call it a night and go home. Alone. Of course. Of _course_.

You didn't forgive that easily. Except for every time in the past that you did, but that didn't count. Tonight, your will was ironclad.

You would make him beg for your forgiveness.

Oh, but not like that.

Of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the continuing saga of WOW EVERYONE HAS BEEN SO NICE
> 
> I know I say it every time but like I just, I WANNA PINCH YOUR CHEEKS
> 
> Um also i have further plans for the stop sign dick so that's
> 
> a thing
> 
> that will happen.


	5. Whys Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I can't express enough just how CRAZY GRATEFUL AND OVERJOYED it makes me if even one of you is enjoying this.
> 
> 2\. I don't really have a good excuse for why y'all had to wait two weeks for this, besides just the fact that it took me a while. I hope it doesn't happen again, buuuuut shit happens and with the holidays coming up, I'm not about to start making promises where my ability to keep them is dubious at best, so thank you so much for being patient.
> 
> 3\. I already updated the summary with this information, but here it is again if you didn't catch it. I started a tumblr for this and I guess any other story that comes along after? Right now it's just me yelling into the void and at like 3 people about this story, but if that sounds like your idea of a good time, then by all means swing by and say hello and maybe yell into the void with me. It'll be like a party.
> 
> here.  
> have fun.  
> http://auntie-diluvian.tumblr.com/

On your drive to Grillby's from Barton Bluffs, the heavens unleashed their fury on the mountains and their valleys and the rain volleyed against your windshield with such force that you and a small caravan of vehicles around you had to slow down to half the speed limit just to see a hundred feet in front of you. As such, it took you 10 minutes longer than you’d guessed to arrive, and when you finally white-knuckled your way into the parking lot behind Grillby’s, you let out a sigh of relief, slumping over the wheel and listening to the roar of the rain and the top 40 station on the radio.

You weren’t _that_ late, so you took a moment to check yourself in the visor mirror. Yeesh, you really needed a haircut. Otherwise… you’d do to be seen in public. Assuming you were able to stay dry on the way in, of course. You reached over to the floorboards on the passenger's side, searching for an umbrella and not finding one.

Goddamnit. You tried to keep an umbrella in your car, but the umbrellas tended to have better things to do than wait around for it to rain and serve their fucking purpose. You suspected they had separate, secret lives of their own and also that wherever they were, they hated your guts and took delight in knowing that your day was ruined because of their escape.

You took a deep breath and opened the door. Immediately the cozy atmosphere of your car was suffused with damp cold and you grimaced. The door to Grillby’s seemed miles away. You ran for it, cold, dirty water seeping into the soles of your shoes and soaking your socks, wicking up the hems of your jeans. And your poor sweater.

Half-drowned, you burst through the door and suppressed the urge to shake off like a dog. Shivering, miserable and pathetic, you slicked your hair back and hoped it made you look cool. No sign of Sans yet. You seated yourself at the bar and ordered a beer from Grillby himself.

“Hey, I heard about your mom’s artifact. Hope they find the punk who did it!”

And then he was gone. Bless that man of so few words. Another bartender set your beer down in front of you. As you raised the glass to your lips, someone slid onto the stool next to you.

“Was wondering if you were ever gonna show--oh.”

It was some dude. Inebriated, of course, and looking all-too pleased with himself.

“Hey.”

“Uh, hi.” You took a drink of your beer, leaning away from him.

“You got a boyfriend?”

Ech. _Lie, just lie, it’ll be easier if you just lie._

“Eyup.” You looked somewhere, anywhere else.

“Is he here?”

You cringed, then laughed at him openly. “Dude, are you fucking serious?”

You would almost be embarrassed for him if you weren’t so put out. You tried to work out just how mad Grillby would be if you decked him. 

Tempting, but no. You still had it, you just had to figure out what to say to make him go away. You were pretty sure you still had it. You hoped so.

Or you could take the easy way, since you weren't in any kind of rush to find out if you were still as much of a sweet talker as you were when you were ten. You locked eyes with the easy way, who had just arrived. Bone-dry, of course.

“Excuse me,” you said with a sickly sweet smile as you slid off the stool and out of the frying pan. There were worse places to go than into the fire. You had arranged to meet him here, after all. You glanced over your shoulder to find your unfortunate barfly watching. 

When you were within arm's reach, you drew Sans into a leaning, full-body hug before he had a chance to say a word. 

“Woah there, you’re freezing, are you o-”

You pulled from the hug, cupped his face with both hands, and planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth. You just registered out of your peripherals that your barfly had seen the whole thing before you returned your attention to the new situation at hand. The one you created. On purpose. Why _not_ kiss the fucker you're supposed to be mad at? Why not use him to deal with a situation you probably could have handled yourself? _Good call_. You were sure he'd be thrilled when he put all the pieces together.

Best to keep that from happening as long as possible. You sank into the warmth his closeness gave you and had to kill a sigh before it left your lungs. His arms snuck around your sides and his palms were flat on your back and being held by him, like that, felt like a good stretch after a nap. 

A customer seated at the table next to which you and Sans were embracing cleared his throat loudly enough that you got the point and separated yourself.

“whuh. I mean. Are you okay?” he asked, addled and blue. 

The barfly was… vigilant, you'd give him that much.

“Try not to look so surprised,” you begged him in a whisper. He was fairly grinning but you didn't meet his eyes. 

“Why the hell not? After this morning I was sure I'd ruin-” 

“No, I mean literally try not to look so surprised, we, uh… have an audience of one.” You fixed your gaze at a spot on the floor.

“Oh.” the smile was even gone from his voice. “That guy?” You followed his nod.

“Yup. It- I think it’s handled.” You stared at the drawstring on his jacket. “But um, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure?” Perhaps you were a bit of a glutton for punishment, reaching for him again, everything else that had seemed so important before, forgotten. Why were you even mad at him, again?

He stopped you, hands bracketing your biceps. “He just got up and went back to his table, I think it’s safe to say it’s handled. So… maybe we should just find a place to sit down?”

“Right, you pick a booth, I’m gonna grab my beer right quick.”

You marched to the bar, face burning. Set down twice in one day. By the same person! The same asshole you were now about to have dinner with. Your beer sloshed all over your hand.

Sans had picked a booth towards the back, dimly lit, secluded and next to a window. You were beginning to learn he had an uncanny ability to make you feel alone with him even in public. As soon as you set your glass on the table, Florence, Grillby's niece, took your orders. When she left, silence fell on your table. You stared through your glass and a shiver ran through you. 

“You're cold.”

“It's raining. I got wet.”

You were masters of conversation.

He stood, shrugged off his jacket, and offered it to you. Hesitant, you took it and put it on. It swallowed you but it was warm and soft and smelled like citrus and smoke, but you tried not to think about that.

“Thanks.” You cleared your throat. “Did you bring the thing?”

“No, it's at home. Didn't think you'd want me to hand it over in public, but I'll go get it when we're done here.”

Florence brought out your cheeseburger and Sans’ ketchup. You snorted, biting into a fry. “Sounds like we're doing a drug deal.”

“We did pull off a heist, y’know, as in a crime. Or is that not exciting enough for you?”

“You're right, taking a vibrator from my mom's museum was very Ocean's Eleven of us.”

You munched on your cheeseburger while Sans nursed his bottle. It seemed neither of you wanted to discuss anything further. Whatever was going on in his mind, and certainly yours, regarding this… whatever it was between you, was much too volatile to try to digest with the main course. Or at all. The whole idea of having to talk to him about last night disagreed with you so much you only ate about a third of your meal.

You drained your beer. You were by no means a lightweight, but you hoped if you made up for it with speed of consumption you could buy yourself at least a few minutes of courage and relative honesty.

Sans raised an eyebrow at you. “If that was supposed to be a challenge, I gotta turn it down. This is sippin’ ketchup. Says fancy on the label so you know it goes down slower.”

You weren't a hundred percent--or even ten percent--sure that was even five percent true, but you didn't say anything. He put down his bottle and sighed.

“Shit, I'm not any good at this.”

He had all of your slightly wobbly, beer-washed attention. Your leg began to jiggle on the ball of your foot. 

“I didn't mean, this morning--well, I meant it, but I didn't mean.” He took quite a large gulp of his “sippin’ ketchup” and shifted in his seat. 

“OK, let me start over. You have every right to be mad at me, though I kinda can't tell if you are or not. But that doesn't matter. Shit, no. It matters, but it doesn't change what I have to say, you get me?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah, I am kind of mad, but not as much as this morning. I just wish you'd had your head on straight before… we…”

“Exactly! Great, exactly. That's why you should be mad. But also I am having a _skel_ of a time trying to figure out if this-” he gestured between the two of you, “-is either the worst idea ever, or if just wanting it--you--enough is a good enough reason to try. If you even still want to. Fuck.” He huffed and stared over your head into the kitchen behind you.

You rubbed your eyes. “Okay, just give me a minute.”

You sat back in your seat, jaw clenched so tight it was giving you a headache. There were puddles in the parking lot that had to be at least three inches deep by now.

“Why are we a bad idea?” you mumbled, still looking out the window. Maybe you were pouting, just a little. Of course, you knew all of your reasons. You wanted to hear his.

“First of all, there's the problem of, well… me.”

“What.”

“Frisk, I am a thirty-six goddamn years old skeleton. I'm not much to look at, I am lazier and more unmotivated than even my brother gives me credit for, and because of my job, I'm pretty much never home for longer than a couple of weeks. Now, assuming you could somehow get past all o’ that, I've got more issues than TIME, and I've had more time than anyone… should ever... D’you get the picture or should I keep going? ‘Cuz I can keep going.”

You knew all of that about him. Well, except for the parts you disagreed with. You were pretty sure he knew you knew all of that about him. 

“Self-loathing, crystal clear. Um, we'll skip that one for now. What's next?”

“What’s… next? Okay, how ‘bout the fact that I’ve known you since you were eleven?” He folded his arms.

“Ten, actually.”

“That’s not better, Frisk! _Not better_!”

“Well, how ‘bout it?”

“What, that doesn’t bother you? At all? It bothers me!”

You sat forward. “Why’s it bother you? Did you wanna fuck me when I was ten?”

Sans choked on his ketchup, twisting around in his seat so fast he’d have gotten whiplash if he had muscles. But nobody was paying attention to you in this little corner of the restaurant.

“ _What the fuck_ ,” he rasped, still checking the area.

“So… that’s a no, then?”

He buried his face in his hands.

“Oh, come on. You got me a pet rock for like, 5 birthdays in a row. Not the kind of gift someone would use to ingratiate themselves with a kid. Not that they haven’t been extremely loyal pets. I have all of them on my bookshelf in my apartment: Mjolnir, Dr. Pepper, Samson, Dwayne and Buttpotato. Anyway, so this is a recent thing, I mean relatively, right? I don’t see the problem.”

Florence took your basket and brought you and Sans the bill stub. Sans waited for her to get out of earshot again. 

“The problem is that I did want to fuck you when you were 21 and that still somehow isn’t that much better. I hadn’t seen you in, what, four years? And then there you were, all grown up. Sorta. It was weird, like I’d rubbed off on you somehow even though we never spent that much time together. But also like everyone else had rubbed off on you too, and it only got stronger with time and it was like I was looking at everyone I’d ever cared about. But 21, is… it’s still really young. You're, what, 25 now? You’re still really young.”

Your throat constricted, you fished some cash out of your wallet with unsteady fingers and smacked it down on top of the stub. You shoved your wallet back in your pocket and tried to brush off the intensity of his words.

“No wonder you move so slow, you talk like you're ancient but you're only, like, eleven years older than me. Which is nothing to sneeze at, but I mean, I get it. Kinda. It probably feels a little bit like a death wish. Honestly, though? At the end of the day, stranger things have happened. And nobody knows that better than us.”

He rolled his neck, slumped a bit.

“Gahh, I don't- I don't know. You might be right. Ya prob’ly are. It's still a lot of stuff I have to work out, y’know? I'll sleep on it and we'll…” he winced a bit. “We'll talk again, ok?”

“I can help, though! Look at what we did tonight!”

He wouldn't meet your eyes. 

“Yeah, I don't know. Thanks for dinner. I'm gonna go get the thing and I'll be right back.”

He slid out of the booth, bid a good night to Florence and Grillby, and slipped out the door.

No. You weren't done yet. Even though you had, more or less, gotten what you came for. More of an explanation than an apology, but it worked for you, the vibrator was seconds away from being in your possession, and you had eaten what you could stomach of your burger. What was left?

_Goddammit._

You bruised your side on the corner of the table in your haste to follow him. Trying not to collide with anything else, you dashed to the front of the bar and threw open the door. 

“ _Rrrgh_...Sans! Wait!”

You barely touched his arm and half a second later you were up to your ankles in a pile, or more like a small island, of clothes. Mostly socks. This was the way Sans’ room was meant to look. All in a day’s work.

“I told you I was coming right back.”

“Yeah, but,” you drawled, shrugging, “for how long? Five seconds? Or were you thinking of getting comfy and staying for ten after you gave me the toy and said nighty-night?”

He snorted and shuffled over to his bedside table. 

“Never let anyone say you aren't determined.”

He opened the drawer and took out the vibrator, holding it out to you. You took it from him, grimacing, and he went back to rooting around in the drawer.

“Nobody that ever did lived to tell the tale. Mostly because nobody’s ever said that to me, or had a reason to.”

“Dammit, where in the hell…?” he muttered, not listening.

“Looking for something?” you asked, but he didn't answer. He pulled out his suitcase from under the bed and dug through it until he pulled out a wrinkled brown paper bag and peeked inside with an “a-HA!”

“I got you something when I was in Spain. I was only there for a week this last time, but I… well, I hoped you might think it was funny. But I keep forgetting to give it to you, so, since you're here… It's not much but, uh. I don't know. Anyway, here, close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

Sans’ gift-giving skills had improved by leaps and bounds over the years, occasionally even crossing into thoughtful gift territory, but the ones he brought home from his travels were even better. He pressed a small package into your hand.

You opened your eyes and took the lid off the box. Nestled inside on foam was a small oblong, flat, concave piece of clay pottery with two holes in the top. Raised from the concave upper surface of the pot was a… 

“Sans, is that a winged penis? You got me a winged penis... ashtray thing from Spain?” 

“It's...supposed to be a Roman lamp replica and uh. Yeah. Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, I'll just-”

It was the single best souvenir he'd ever brought you, and that was including the fake poop he'd bought at a gift shop at the airport in Hawaii.

“A lamp, huh? So light-up dicks seem to be a motif this week. I can live with that, I think.”

He turned blue and defensive. “That part didn't even occur to me, and when I bought it that was before all this, I didn't mean- we just made a lot of dick jokes at the party last year and-”

You caught him in a hug. 

“I love it. Thank you.”

He pat you on the back, just as awkward as he'd been when you first saw him yesterday afternoon. One step forward, two steps back was not a game you were interested in playing with him tonight, so you held on tighter. He caught on soon enough.

“Frisk? Are you gonna…?”

“Let go? You'd like that, wouldn't you? Trying to get rid of me. Yeah, well, fat chance, numbskull.” You leaned into him a little more, half expecting him to stumble back, but he was steady as ever.

He capitulated, eventually, lacing his fingers together behind your back with a resigned sigh. You rested your chin on his shoulder and let your breathing slow and your eyelids droop.

“Are you seriously gonna fall asleep on me? Cuz that shit ain't gonna fly, bud.”

“I could.”

“Nope, you couldn't, because you're going home. C’mon.” He pulled away from you.

You went slack. “Aw, no, wait, wait. Um…”

You racked your brain.

“It's still raining outside. Like, a lot.” Like you cared at this point, but… 

“Oh, yeah. Let me go find you an umbrella. If we have one.”

“What about your jacket?” You were grasping at straws, now. 

“You can just give it back to me later, I'll live without it until then. I know where you live, so I'm not that worried you're gonna try to _jack it_ from me.” You could tell he’d been saving that one for a rainy day. Still, you laughed.

“I’m not even gonna touch that one.”

“I--umbrella, right. Umbrella.”

He disappeared into the hallway, rummaged around in Papyrus’ room and returned bearing a tiny umbrella with cartoon frogs on it.

“You ready?” he asked.

Needless to say, you weren’t. You were thinking through your options, considering just straight up asking for ten more minutes to stay and plead your case, which you weren’t sure exactly what that was yet, but you would cross that bridge when you came to it, your throat working, working, but the words wouldn’t come--when he asked you point blank: “Why don’t you want to go home?”

You didn’t have a good answer for that question. Not in words, anyway. Your reddening cheeks told him all he needed to know.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He rubbed his jaw. “You’re making this really difficult, you know that?”

You dislodged some words from your gut. “I can help. I wanna help.”

“Yeah, you’re bein’ real helpful. I’m sure all of my misgivings would work themselves right on out if we just fucked one more time, is that pretty much what you’re selling?”

“I mean… don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it, right?” You laughed weakly.

Your pulse noticed his approach before your brain did. He did not look happy. He looked like a man fighting a losing battle.

“Frisk, nobody likes a smart-ass. I would know, because I’m usually the smart-ass. But fine. We’ll try it your way.”

He let the umbrella slide out of his fingers. The closed metal spokes clacked together on the floor and you felt like you’d won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your continuing edutainment, have a look at this example Roman dick lamp: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/535717318152399933/
> 
> (that's not me on pinterest, btw, I just google searched for Roman fascinus lamp)
> 
> This one's from Pompeii and is a bit fancier and more detailed than the MANY many novelty replicas I saw in Merida, Spain (long story, it was a day trip for the archaeology field school I went to in Portugal) but it gets the idea across pretty well.
> 
> So let's all give a big hand to Sans. Good job picking out that one, buddy. Way 2 go.
> 
> Edit: [here's one like I saw](http://auntie-diluvian.tumblr.com/post/152497086222/oh-man-i-am-so-glad-one-of-my-fb-friends-posted), purchased, broken, and re-assembled by one of the folks I was on the trip.


	6. Red Light, Green Light, Blue Light

Your teeth were buzzing.

In fact, every muscle in your body was buzzing. Every nerve and sinew was sparking with anxious energy, pressure that zinged up and down your spine and you were sure you'd burn through all of it in a millisecond if you had to use it.

And he hadn't even touched you yet.

“Well?” he asked. 

Suddenly you remembered yourself and your eyebrows knit together in a petulant scowl. 

“Don't _well_ me,” you snapped, maneuvering around him and setting the vibrator and the box with the lamp on his nightstand, “I'm... thinking.”

There were a great many electrical connections and chemical reactions happening in your brain at that moment, but not many of them led down a path that could have honestly been termed thinking.

Sans sat down on the edge of his bed, his spine uncharacteristically ramrod straight, with his hands folded primly in his lap.

“So what are you gonna do to me? Are you gonna tie me up and spank me and tell me I've been a very bad boy?” his voice was mockingly breathy, and if he had eyelashes, he almost certainly would have been batting them at you. 

“Don't be a shit, dude.”

He slumped again, grinning without humor. “What, I'm trying to set the scene. Wasn't that your plan? Ooo, teach me a lesson, Frisk.”

“All right, first lesson: shush, and have a little faith that I know what I'm doing.”

You had no idea what you were doing.

But he didn't need to know that, and given the circumstances, inaction seemed unwise, so you shrugged out of Sans’ jacket and struggled out of your clinging wet clothes in a rush, trying not to lose your nerve. 

You already felt warmer and drier just being rid of them, but when your eyes met you shivered despite the cozy warmth of the room and “dry” was no longer a word that came to mind. 

“That's… a decent start.” His words came out thick and misshapen, a good omen.

“I know.”

His arms twitched, as though he wanted to reach for you, then thought better of it, so you stepped closer, within arm's length, noticing with not a small amount of satisfaction the pitched tent in his shorts.

“Are you gonna take your clothes off too or did I misunderstand the situation? Again?” You were half-teasing, half considering that prospect in abject horror. He wouldn't mess with you _that_ much, would he? What if this whole time he was just trying to let you down gently but you just couldn't take the hint and, well there _had_ been a lot of hints, even a lot of outright declarations about why this was a bad idea, why didn't you just _listen_ and now--

“Oh, I just. Heh. I thought the novelty of me goin’ bare bones woulda worn off by now.”

 _Novelty_? You would have been insulted at the suggestion if he hadn't looked so pitiful making it.

“Woahkay, novelty’s got nothing to do with anything that's going on here. Shit, I mean I used to rub one out to--” 

_Too far_. You snapped your jaw shut so fast you had to run your tongue over your teeth to make sure you hadn't broken one.

“Uh, listen, that sentence wasn't going where you thought it was going.”

That was a lie if you'd ever told one, and you really, really had, and Sans was hardly gullible. Sans saying nothing was much, much worse than anything he could have said to tease you. You folded your arms and he just stared at you, grin too large and too wild to mean anything good. After a moment of seeming consideration, he pulled off his shirt over his head, raised his hips just enough to wriggle out of his shorts. 

Well, you'd just have to make sure he forgot. You were both naked now, so that shouldn't be so difficult, right? If you had something to retaliate with, you could… 

A lightbulb flickered on in your head and it shone so brightly you nearly blew a fuse. At last, you had a plan, or something like it. 

The bed springs creaked with your added weight as you nudged him backward, straddling him on the edge. You crowded him until he fell back on the bed. Taking your bait, he grabbed your ass as you rubbed yourself along the length of his cock. His head grazed your clit and after a few times you had to stop or you'd forget yourself. 

You cleared your throat and did your best to sound unaffected, or at least considerably less close to coming in the immediate future than you were. 

“This is interesting. I'm getting, like, a weird sense of déjà vu. Are you?”

You rocked your hips a little when he didn't answer. He huffed, then sputtered, “You were like this when I woke up this morning.”

You ground down on him harder, trailing a finger along his spine. 

“But that isn't it, though, is it? I seem to recall you had something really interesting to say about it.”

You watched with heady delight as the confusion on his face shifted to realization and finally, total mortification. 

You grinned. “Never let anyone say I don't make your dreams come true.” You winked, for added flavor. He looked miserable; you felt _really_ good.

The playing field was level, now, or so you figured. You might have been a little biased making that call, but now you could really test out your plans. Well, if you could last long enough to get to that point.

“Can we… just…”

You answered him by raising yourself up just enough so his cock naturally bobbed to attention, then slowly fitting yourself over him, sinking down and feeling yourself stretch until you were fully seated on him. You certainly could just. You rode him carefully at first, then bucked harder as his fingers pinched your nipples. His moans were so gratifying you couldn’t help but let loose a few of your own. But when he snuck a hand between your bodies and slipped a bony fingertip right under where you’d been grinding your clit and you nearly lost it right then and there, you stilled completely.

“Um. You okay? Why’d you stop.”

You took a moment to collect yourself.

“You ever play the game Red Light, Green Light, Sans?” your voice came out halting and breathy, but you thought perhaps by now that would work in your favor.

He panted, shaking his head, as though he couldn’t believe you were having _this_ conversation in _this_ situation. “I-- yeah, I think so? What?”

“So, let’s play.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“This is the plan.”

“So I guess you get to call all the shots, is that it?” he asked.

“No, of course not! You do!”

He looked at you like you’d lost your mind, and maybe you had. “O-okay. Then… Green light. Go.”

You licked your lips and grinned. “Ah, I forgot. There’s a twist!”

Sans looked ready to kill you.

“You don’t say ‘Red Light’ or ‘Green Light’. Red Light is silence, Green Light is answering my questions!” you said with glee.

“Oh my god.”

“So! First question, yesterday when you said you were making up for lost time, what did you mean?”

You sat on top of him, perfectly still. It was so odd, but sure enough, when you were still, you felt nothing inside you. You began to see a flaw in your plan; it might not be much fun for you, either.

You watched him struggle with himself for almost a whole minute before he apparently decided you were serious. He screwed up his face before speaking.

“I-”

You were perhaps too eager. He only got that one word out before you let yourself relax and move again.

“Shit- I didn’t want to waste any more time leaving things ambiguous between us after the party last year, I- fuhuck you- I wanted to make sure you knew.”

You were already getting worked up again, so it was something of a blessing when he finished talking.

“Then why all the mixed signals?”

“We already went over all of my doubts! Frisk, how in the fuck is this supposed to help- jesus fuck-”

This was not going to last long for you.

“Do you even like me?”

That question took even you by surprise. He just stared at you for a long moment.

“Was that ever in question?” he asked.

It wasn’t an answer, not really, so you stayed right where you were, missing his cock inside you, trying to figure out if you’d really gone too far this time.

“Of course I like you,” he said quietly. “I like you… a scary amount. And if I didn’t like you, I sure as hell wouldn’t be putting up with this bullshit. Also, you’re cheating. I’m talking and you’re just sitting there being really… just awful to me.”

In this case, you were happy to admit your mistake and try to make it up to him. You sank to your elbows and kissed along his jaw as you increased your pace. You were both, if not silent, then certainly incoherent for the next few minutes as you both took your fill of the fast, sweaty, messy deed. When you thought your legs were about to go out, Sans’ deft fingers found your clit again. It pinched with each fall, but it was enough to send you over the edge if you allowed it to continue, and your body seemed determined to go on without you. You sat upright again, the shifting angle of his cock as you did so not helping your cause at all, breathing hard as much from the sheer exertion as from the rush. “I have… no more questions,” you panted, rolling off of him carefully with shaky legs.

“That’s good because I have a few of my own.”

Oh. You somehow had not expected that.

“First question.” He knelt between your thighs, and from your position underneath him now on the bed, he blocked a good deal of what little light there was to begin with. His eyes shone like an animal’s caught on flash, or not like an animal’s at all, rather more like- and only like- his. “What am I, to you, right now?”

His cock was right there, just barely skimming your outer lips. You had to admit, your stupid game was quite a lot to process from the other side of it.

You bit your lip.

“I… I don’t know, you’re just- haah-” he had sunk into you all at once, “-the guy I’ve had a crush on since forever I guess?”

He was still buried inside you, but wouldn’t move.

“Stay still. How long is forever, in this case? Gimme an estimate.”

“On and off since the time I sprained my ankle in high school. And now you’re cheating, toooo shit.”

“That’s… a really goddamn long time.”

His voice was gruff, he was sweating, his eyes were on your face, your body, your limbs were all searching. He was pounding, not playing by your rules anymore, or any rules whatsoever anymore. You would have told him anything just then.

“So you know all of my shit now. What’re _you_ afraid of?”

Anything but that.

Your breath caught.

“C’mon, don’t make me stop. I hate this fucking game but I’m doin’ this for you.”

Slowly, gradually, he did stop. “Okay, forget about the game, but you might’ve been right. We should know this kinda shit about each other before we try… anything.” He was trying to be gentle, only that made it worse.

“I, uh. It’s the. I’m worried you could never want me as much as I want you because I’ve been in this position for so much longer. Or just in general, maybe I’m not really what you’re looking for, I don’t know.”

You felt like throwing up, until you saw his face.

Without another second’s hesitation, he drove himself into you with such force you nearly choked on the intake of your own breath. “Rub your clit, ‘cuz I’m gonna ask you one more thing, and then we’re gonna be done here.”

The expression on his face warned you not to make him ask twice, so you did. You were so close, and he was giving you exactly what you wanted.

“Does this fucking feel like I don’t want you? Is that the impression I’m giving off right now?”

“No,” you wheezed between loud cries.

“No! You’re goddamn right!”

You let go at last and your entire body seized, long pulsations like strobe lights where you came back to life in disjointed bits and pieces. Sans came to a jittery, quivering halt above you, head twitching and all. His cock throbbed inside you in syncopated rhythm with your own wild pulse. He dropped to his elbows, panting heavily.

“I have no idea where we’re going with this but I can’t pretend, I mean I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you enough to try. I think… we’re probably already… something.”

“You think we’re something?” you echoed, trying to remember the facial muscles for smiling rather than, well. What you had been doing.

“Yeah. We’re something.”

He rolled off of you, cock no longer in sight. Probably tucked away safe in the void somewhere.

“But I gotta hand it to you, that was…” he trailed off, staring at the ceiling.

You eased up on your pouting to bask in praise.

“Enlightening? Cathartic? Did you find Nirvana between my thighs?” These were all reasonable suggestions, given what he’d just put you through, you figured.  
.  
“I was gonna say it was a hell of a thing, but sure, call it however you want. _Butt_ ,” and he poked the relevant part of your anatomy as he said it, “if you ever pull that shit again, I swear to god I will have your ass for it.” His threat lacked the proper venom.

You snorted. “I think we just established you pretty much have the rest of me too, since we’re _something_ now, but I’m glad you’re focusing on what’s really important.”

He poked a finger in your belly button, squinting at it, until you swatted his hand away.

“Oh, so that’s what we established, huh? That I’ve ‘got you’, not that you’re a huge goddamn control freak cocktease with a mean streak? Well, I guess that’s something else, at least. Less work for me if I don’t have to go chasin’ your stubborn ass down.”

In spite of everything that had happened in the last 48 hours, or perhaps because of it, one fact was now firmly cemented in the core of your knowledge of everything Sans and you; there was no timeline, no universe, no version of yourself no matter how twisted, where he would ever have to chase any part of you down to find you.

But to tell him that would show your hand too quickly, so instead you twisted your lips into a crooked smile before using the element of surprise to goad him into a tickle fight which quickly (so quickly!) devolved into fucking. Again. You’d need to bring the large coffee mug to work tomorrow, for sure.

 

You awoke at 6:03 the next morning to the sound of a door slamming and Papyrus’ voice pitching wildly all the way into his room, followed by some thudding noises against the shared wall. Damn, you knew he had an ironclad morning routine but this was just eerie.

You wasted no time that morning hopping out of bed to get dressed, even though your clothes were still slightly damp in some places and it made you want to cry, and Sans had jolted awake beside you the instant the front door slammed. As soon as you were both relatively clothed, Sans nodded at you and opened the door a crack.

“Paps, you okay this morning?”

Papyrus leapt into the hallway, startling you both.

“BROTHER! YOU’RE AWAKE! I HAVE SUCH NEWS AS YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE! I FINAL--WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO ME THROUGH A CRACK IN THE DOOR, SANS, IT’S MORE THAN A LITTLE RUDE. OH, HELLO FRISK, GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN. NOW, AS I WAS SAYING-”

Papyrus did a double-take.

“FRISK! LOCAL DATING EXPERT FRISK, OF COURSE! HOW FORTUITOUS!”

“Local... dating… expert?”

Papyrus ignored him and continued. “THIS NEWS PERTAINS TO YOU! I NO LONGER REQUIRE YOUR SERVICES!”

“You’re firing me, Paps? Do I still get to wear the badge?” you asked.

“NO, I SIMPLY. NO LONGER. REQUIRE. YOUR SERVICES. IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.”

He winked at you audibly. Sans blipped out of the room and you heard him mumbling over the percolating coffee pot.

“Wow,” you drew out the word, suitably impressed. “So it sounds like you finally took Mettaton to the bo-”

“YES TO THE BOT SPOT!”

“Exactly what I was gonna say. Well, congratulations, buddy, I’m glad it all worked out.”

“YES, IT WAS EXACTLY AS YOU SAID! I SIMPLY TOLD HIM HOW I FELT AND NOW ALL OF OUR PROBLEMS ARE SOLVED!”

You winced. Had you even scratched the surface with Sans? After last night, you felt certain you were at the very least on more solid ground, but beyond that, everything was still so murky. Figures the living (or dead, or living dead) embodiment of ‘this one goes to eleven’ and the gay calculator would be able to work out their issues with the cold, fast efficiency of… well, of Papyrus and Mettaton, while you were stuck trying to figure out a way to ask ‘what are we’ without doing that at all. Why couldn’t things just be easy like that?

Still, you were happy for them, even if your happiness was tinged with jealousy.

“Aw, see? Local Dating Expert Frisk is never wrong.” You hoped Papyrus wouldn’t notice how too-bright your voice was.

“I WON’T TOUCH THAT ONE. BUT!” 

Papyrus ‘this one goes to eleven’ the Great went to eleven.

“I SEE METTATON AND I HAVE SOME GROUND TO MAKE UP, SO I MUST CONGRATULATE THE BOTH OF YOU!”

You heard a distant “fuck.” from the kitchen.

“SANS?”

“‘M all right, I spilled my coffee.” 

“AS I WAS SAYING, I MUST CONGRATULATE THE BOTH OF YOU! WOWIE, TWICE IN AS MANY DAYS. YOU’RE ALREADY DOING FIFTY PERCENT BETTER THAN US! IF YOU KEEP IT UP, WE MAY NEVER CATCH UP! BUT WE’LL BE WAITING, SO DON’T DROP YOUR GUARD!”

You forgot how to breathe.

“Bro it’s… it is _really not_ a contest.” called Sans from the kitchen, his voice worn thin and cracking.

“THOSE SOUND LIKE THE WORDS OF SOMEONE WHO’S AFRAID OF _LOSING_! NYEH HEH HEH!”

Papyrus struck a pose, also probably something he’d picked up from Mettaton, or had he always done that? and marched to his room where you heard his computer booting up. Safe to say you could expect all of Ebott Valley to know what Papyrus had gotten up to last night by way of his less than subtle hints by this afternoon. That would make Sans fun to deal with later.

“Oh my god.” His face was buried in his hands when you reached him in the kitchen.

“Well,” you said, pouring yourself a cup and trying not to laugh, “at least he’s happy this morning.”

“I see nothing humorous about this situation.”

Woah. He didn’t even go for the pun. “Sorry, I just… Papyrus thinks we’ve only done it twice.”

He did chuckle at that, but it was followed by the sleepiest sigh you’d ever heard. “I can’t deal with this right now, it is six fucking fifteen in the goddamn morning.”

“It _is_?” You screeched. “Fuck, I gotta get home so I can get ready for work!” You took a gulp of coffee, shuddering at the taste and the feeling of the roof of your mouth blistering, and went back to Sans’ room to gather your things. The winged dick lamp in one hand and the blue vibrator in the other, you were ready to go. _If_ you could figure out how to say goodbye to Sans without everything you’d fucked for going up in flames.

“Please don’t take this as the hasty exit that it is. Um, I’ll text you, at work. For some reason.” You had to take a moment to silently marvel at how bad that was.

He didn’t seem to mind. “Kay.”

“O-okay. Um, bye!” You made it about two steps down the hallway when you felt a tug on the back of your sweater. You spun to meet his tiny pupils with a thud thud thud under your jaw.

“Your car is still at Grillby’s.”

Oh, right.

“Also.”

He stepped closer and pulled your head down to his, teeth on your lips. It took you a second to react, but the surprise died as your lips found a rhythm and your hands cupped the back of his skull, holding him to you.

When he pulled away, you were both short of breath and of words, and standing by your car in the Grillby’s parking lot.

“Just… so you’d know. This time.”

He shrugged, a weird smile you couldn’t remember seeing before on his mouth. And then he was gone.

Well, fuck. Try not falling in love with that.


	7. With Friends Like These... Kids Like You... Don't Need Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO BOY WHERE DO I EVEN START
> 
> Let's start with fanart, which is a BRAND FUCKIN' NEW THING since the last time I updated. This should tell us two things.
> 
> 1\. WRITE THE FUCK FASTER, AD! Which yes, tru, and  
> 2\. VIVI IS A GOD. DAMN. BEAST. LOOK AT [THIS](http://auntie-diluvian.tumblr.com/tagged/tltp-fanart). Go follow artanddetermination on tumblr if you don't already, she's a cool person.
> 
> Also, robonersmnc did [THIS](http://auntie-diluvian.tumblr.com/post/139393753352/eyyy-so-i-saw-you-wrote-a-thing-and-then-did-a) which is not actually a scene from this story but actually the thing I posted yesterday, First Things First. If you haven't read that yet, it's from Snas's perspective and it takes place the morning before TLTP and it's not REALLY dirty but he jacks off while being all melancholy and kinda dramatic so.
> 
> Um. I think that's it. I've kept you all waiting long enough. Haha. Whoops.

You were jumpy, that morning. It was a combination of the necessary but large amount of caffeine you'd consumed and the fact that you weren't getting any work done. Your stack of e-filing piled up to your left, the tedium of data entry lulled you into a constant daydream despite your best efforts, and then, to your right, there was the matter of your cell phone. You lost count of how many times you had picked it up, typed out a message to Sans, decided it was too short or too long or too sappy or too cold, or maybe it wasn't funny enough or it was still too early in the day, too soon since he'd kissed you to the parking lot behind Grillby's. Every draft of that text got deleted.

So anytime someone's file cart rumbled down your hallway, you got spooked, slammed your phone down on your desk, and tried to remember how to be busy. As soon as they passed, though, your eyes would glaze over, the names and addresses would all melt in front of your sleepy, dry eyes, and your thoughts would once more become otherwise occupied.

Your 11:30 lunch break crept closer, and even though you had a couple of frozen lunches in the break room, you were desperately in need of some fresh air, some sunlight, some other people--anything to take your mind off of this _thing_ that shouldn't have felt like it was looming over you, but did anyway. You were in the middle of mulling over your lunch options within walking distance when your desk phone rang.

“Hey Frisk, this is Jenn at the front desk, I've got Captain Undyne and Dr. Alphys here to see you?”

You hadn't been expecting them, but it wasn't unusual for either one of them to show up to take you out to lunch. Both of them, however... Their lunch break schedules didn’t usually mesh without careful prior planning so there was no doubt in your mind they had arranged for this, today. They knew something, so you were going to have to play your cards especially close to your chest.

“All right, cool. Uh, I'll be down in just a second! Thanks, Jenn!”

You grabbed your wool coat you'd slung over the top of your filing cabinet and rushed downstairs to the front desk, knowing that if you took too long, Undyne would come find you and then you wouldn't be able to leave the building for the next half hour if anyone spotted her and struck up a conversation. Luckily, they were still waiting for you in the lobby when you buzzed through. 

“You two had better be here to feed me, because I sure as hell didn't come down here for the pleasure of your company.”

“They’re so mean!” Alphys gasped, nudging her girlfriend in the side. “Don't let their weak-ass insults get to ya, babe. They're just lashing out, like a scared little chimpanzee,” said Undyne. Baffled by the odd analogy, you began to wonder if they'd been binge watching David Attenborough specials again, but the more immediate issue at hand was the predatory grin they each wore.

“So, where are we going for lunch?” you asked. If there was to be an inquest, you would fare better if everyone involved had a full stomach.

“Wing Stop!” shouted Undyne, leading you out to the car. Alphys snorted. 

“No. And neither of you are allowed to mention that ever again.”

“Ugh, fine,” groaned Undyne, ducking into the passenger's side, “then what about the new deli on 3rd and Center?”

You couldn't think of a way they could possibly tease you about eating a sandwich, so you agreed. 

“So,” said Alphys, glancing at you in her rear view mirror, “How was the r-rest of your weekend?”

Two minutes and one completely innocuous sounding question in and you were already beginning to feel how massively unprepared you were. You pulled out your phone. 

“Oh, y’know, can't complain. How was yours?” was what you said, but you were busy typing: 

**You:** Hey, are we telling people? 

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no. _How_ was the _rest_ of your _weekend_?” Undyne was fully twisted around in her seat, leering at you. Your phone buzzed and you were so relieved you fumbled it and nearly dropped it on the floorboards.

Undyne snickered. “Don't mind me, go ahead and answer it. I'm sure it’s important.”

You gave her a look that you hoped conveyed your displeasure at her tone. 

**Sans:** telling people what? 

Oh, bad. You glanced up. Undyne was facing the road again, but still obviously watching you out of her peripherals, the corner of her mouth turned up. 

**You:** I honestly can't tell if you're being willfully obtuse to make some kind of point, which by the way is lost on me if that's the case, or if something has happened and you've developed a really specific case of amnesia. 

As soon as you hit send you looked up to find Undyne halfway out of her seat, her face only about a foot from yours. You angled your phone away from her, scowling. “D’ya mind?”

“Nope! How's Sans?”

“Who says I was texting him? I coulda been texting… literally anyone else.”

_Bzzt._

**Sans:** huh, nobody’s ever called me willfully anything before

**Sans:** does fucking with you count as being willfully obtuse?

**Sans:** anyway it's your call ;)

Okay. You could do this. Your gut was telling you it would be better to wait until things were more settled before telling anyone else. All you had to do was bear up under pressure and try not to be too transparent.

“Y-yeah. You’re texting him,” said Alphys. “You have a tell.”

“Bu- wh- aren’t you s’posed to be driving?” you sputtered.

“Yeah, Al. Watch the road, that lady wants over. But you totally do, you mess with your teeth with your tongue-”

You interrupted with a whine of protest.

“-And it’s really hard to watch and embarrassing, actually.” 

“Dynamite! Be nice. Oh! But, um, yeah, also? You start to talk like him.” Alphys was nearly shaking with excitement behind the wheel.

“Okay, this is ridiculous. I don’t have a tell, and I _don't_ talk like him.” You let your voice go up in pitch half an octave higher than normal just so you could prove them wrong.

“I sort of hear it,” said Undyne, “but not really. Say something else!”

You buried your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”

“YES! That's exactly how he says it!” screeched Undyne.

The next several minutes consisted of your two best friends croaking out mournful-sounding _oh my god_ s in turn until Alphys finally pulled into the deli parking lot.

“All right,” you groaned, not quite on your last nerve but nearly there, “if you're done imitating me _not_ imitating my boyfriend can we go get some food? Please?”

You unfastened your seatbelt and scooted over to the door, but Undyne and Alphys didn't move an inch, only staring at each other.

Your thoughtless words echoed in your mind and oh, fuck, now you'd done it.

“Shit, no, I didn't mean- because we- ugh, fuck- you know what? Fine. We did go home toge- But y’know what? That doesn't mean… that we're… I mean we might be, but not-” Despite your incoherence, they still managed to pick out exactly what they wanted to hear and ignore what they didn't. 

“DIBS!” they shouted in unison, each scrabbling for their phones. It didn't take them but maybe 20 seconds to finish and you were pretty sure you caught a glimpse of Alphys opening up not just one, but two different social networks. You got out of the car, Undyne and Alphys bursting out onto the pavement shortly after.

“HAH! Oh, you know, can't complain… MY ASS!” cried an overjoyed Undyne, lunging for a hug. Alphys came up behind you and joined in, though with considerably less brute force than her girlfriend. 

It was… all right, you decided. Even if you'd never stood a chance of keeping anything from them, and consequently the rest of the world, there wasn't anyone you'd rather have told first. Well, maybe your mom, but she would probably find out soon enough. These two had known about your crush since the early days and they’d even been rooting for you since you’d gotten home from college. Even if they had played dirty this weekend, even if their teasing messed with your head, even if their excitement now on your behalf was perhaps a bit premature, this was a nice moment, and you started to feel a twinge of guilt for trying to keep your as yet still fairly nebulous ‘something’ from them. 

A middle-aged man passing by gave the three of you an odd look. “OUR FRIEND HERE FINALLY GOT LAID. DIDN'T THINK THAT WAS _EVER_ GONNA HAPPEN FOR THEM!” Undyne was at least a full foot taller than you, and she patted the top of your head as she broadcast this information to the startled man. “LIKE, _EVER_ EVER. I'M SO PROUD.”

And the nice moment was over. You extricated yourself from the group hug, waving sheepishly at the man before turning towards the deli. “Listen, we're still working some things out, okay? Like, some details we've gotta pin down, I guess? So just, can you not… do the thing you guys do every time I date someone new and go way overboard. Like, no nicknaming our hypothetical children, ok Al? I mean, you get attached.”

“Of course! But… just for the record, I'd call them Little Dragon and Space Cadet. _If_ I were gonna, um. Do that.”

“And Undyne, please just… be cool?”

“The coolest! Look, we won't even mention it during lunch.” Undyne put a hand over her heart. 

You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Unless you give us no choice,” she finished under her breath.

That being most likely the best offer you were going to get, the three of you entered the deli and got in line to order.

Making your way down the salad bar not two minutes later, your phone started throwing a fit in your coat pocket. You set your plate and number down on a clean table and sat down to read your messages while Alphys and Undyne paid for their meals.

**MK:** NICE

**Mels:** Why is this the first I'm hearing of this???? wtf :( …..get it tho

**Sans:** the b word huh? yikes

Why did you like him, again? 

**You:** Yeah, B for Bone Buddy. Guess the wires got crossed somewhere along the way. Can't help it if Thelma and Louise got ahead of themselves.

**Sans:** classic failure to communicate.  
my B

Alphys was still at the salad bar and Undyne had gone to the bathroom. 

**You:** I'm getting Deja Vu. All this miscommunication, this merciless teasing I'm being put through. I wonder if something like that has happened to me in the last 48 hours. Any clues? 

This was okay. It was fine. Just some harmless flirting, right? You weren't goading him, or anything. And you could stop at any time if you wanted. Trying not to look like someone who was up to something, which you weren't, you speared some baby spinach on your fork and ate.

“Whatcha smilin’ about? I mean, I know what you're smiling about, but I made you a promise and I also kind of want to hear your excuse.” Undyne slipped into the booth across from you. 

“This is a really good vinaigrette.”

“Wow. That's what you're going with?”

Alphys slid in next to her.

“Babe, how's the vinaigrette?” Undyne asked, not taking her eyes off of you. Alphys shrugged and tentatively ate a forkful. 

“I-It's okay, I guess? Why?”

Undyne's grin was a mile wide. “No reason, babe.”

_Bzzt._

**Sans:** actually not ringing any bells

**Sans:** i think we communicated just fine. as for the teasing, who's to say you're not due for some?

Your gut clenched in a way you couldn't strictly blame on hunger. You glanced up to find Alphys busy chasing a cherry tomato around her plate and Undyne staring impatiently into the kitchen, drumming her fingers.

**You:** If that's still the case after everything you put me through this weekend, I'm well and truly fucked. 

His reply was almost immediate. 

**Sans:** i mean you’re fucked regardless, do you really think your friends are going to let you off the hook for sexting your boyfriend over lunch

**You:** We're not sexting, though? It’s called flirting, bub, and I'm doing it by the book.

**Sans:** that's your cover, huh? not sure i buy that story. you seem to have a habit of starting things you can't finish

Your sandwiches arrived and you knew your face was burning, book puns aside, as you thanked the waiter.

**You:** Apparently we remember this weekend differently. In my version, there was a whole hell of a lot of finishing going on.

**Sans:** just so we're clear, this is you not trying to turn me on, yeah? reminding me about how good it felt when you came all over me? not that i was counting but it was more than just the three times, wasn’t it? or were you talking about me? because that was pretty cool, too, now that you’ve got me thinking about it

You dropped your phone in your lap like it had burned you. Oh, wow. He wasn't kidding, for once. Darting your eyes about the restaurant, you sat up a little straighter, tried not to squirm (but did anyway), picked up your sandwich and crunched into one end of your baguette. You gave yourself a moment to collect yourself and examine your situation. Alphys and Undyne had eyes only for their food, so you figured it wouldn't hurt anyone if you kept just...

**You:** You needed a reminder? Damn, and here I've been thinking about it all morning.

Puh, start things you can't finish. You'd show him. 

**Sans:** heh. no. i already reminded myself once this morning after i dropped you off

You took a badly needed gulp of water, choked on it, and washed it down with another. That shouldn't have come as a surprise. You would have done the same yourself if it wouldn't have made you late for work. In fact, you had considered it anyway. But he definitely had. No big deal, just… now you knew that he had kissed you- and not just kissed you, but kissed you _like that_ \- and then he had gone home, probably locked himself in his room, gotten hard again thinking about last night until he had finally taken that beautiful blue cock of his into his hand and- god, who had decided a deli needed to be like 85 degrees in November? Weren't there health restrictions about safe meat handling temperatures? Hah. Meat handling. You took off your blazer and laid it out next to you on the bench. You did so slowly and deliberately so as not to call attention to it, but Alphys paused ever so slightly before taking another bite and Undyne put her sandwich down and zipped up her leather jacket, without once breaking eye contact. That was just unnecessary. Maybe it wasn’t 85 degrees, but it wasn’t cold, either. You stared each other down, eating, until she lost interest.

**You:** Now I regret not returning the favor. We coulda done, like. An American Tail. Somewhere Out There. Yeah?

...So you had sent sexier texts in your lifetime. Like, a few. Maybe.

**Sans:** fuck. yes.

**Sans:** jesus christ i like you

Hah. Woah. That shouldn’t have caused that reaction. Of course he liked you, he’d even said so. Last night. While he was actually inside of you. So why this?

You weren’t one hundred percent confident your body could handle the amount of blood that was rushing around in your circulatory system. It seemed to be confused. Was it confused? It must be confused. If you were one of your red blood cells, you’d be confused. One second to the cheeks, the next to your groin, the next to your heart and then again and then again. You were sending a lot of mixed signals.

Maybe your whole body was trying to protest you falling for a skeleton who gets excited when you corrupt beloved children’s movies with your overactive libido. Probably, it was just trying to keep up.

Your mouth was dry and you finished off your sandwich in a daze and gulped down the rest of your water. The three of you cleared your trays and left the restaurant. As soon as the door to the diner shut behind you, your two wardens doubled over in laughter at your expense, and to be sure, they didn’t stop for a good quarter of the way back to your office, but you spent the whole drive in a giddy, sick haze.

Alphys and Undyne left you on a side street next to the embassy as they had so many times before, but not before putting the car in park with a lurch and jumping out to squeeze you tight in another group hug. As they turned the corner, your phone rang. You answered immediately because it hadn't been out of your hand for nearly an hour. 

“Frisk!” 

“Oh, hey mom, what's up?”

She huffed. “You know, it would not _kill_ you to make sure your own mother is not the _last to know_ about major life events?” That sounded rehearsed. How long had she been stewing on this before calling you?

“Major life- mom, it's just Sans, it's… I mean I don't even know… half of the stuff… that… y’know?” 

So maybe it wasn’t _just_ Sans. There was nothing _just_ about it, any of it, but it was probably best for the time being to keep _something_ to yourself, at least. You picked a stone bench in the side courtyard of the embassy and sat down, tucking your free hand underneath you in an attempt to keep warm. Blazers were not fantastic for actual cold weather, and you shivered in the wind. 

“But a triumph for you nevertheless, is it not? Oh, shit. Shoot, whatever.” Something clattered to the ground on the other end of the line. 

“You sound kinda busy, do you wanna call me back later when - wait, you're okay with this?”

Your incredulity would have to be excused. After all, what mother wouldn't be thrilled that her only surviving child was dating someone they've known since adolescence, who happens to be eleven years older, who doesn't even live in the same country nine-tenths of the year? Not that those things were a dealbreaker for you, at least, not mostly, not after this weekend, but she was still your mom.

“Of course I am fine, what else would I be?” she said a little too brightly to be convincing, “I am… just... baking, that is _all_.”

“Mom. Mom, how much are you baking?”

It had been almost an hour since Alphys and Undyne had broadcast your little Freudian slip, and she could do a lot of damage in an hour.

“Well, the drama club is having a bake sale for their spring play and I just like to help out where I can!” The singsong note in her voice was a lie. 

“Mom, how much?” you repeated.

“Only a few pies and cakes.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And cupcakes, one cannot have a bake sale without cupcakes.”

“And?”

“Oh, Frisk, I promise you, I am fine! I might have plans to throw together a quiche and a batch of cookies so you and… your new… boyfriend… could come for dinner tonight, but that is _it_! Oh, fuck me, that is far too much vanilla.”

You cringed.

“Wow. ‘Kay, so that is… a lot of baking, and clearly you are worried, and that's fine, y’know? I mean. I get why so um. I’m gonna invite him for dinner and… you'll see how um… normal and… appropriate? We are? And then, you won't have to bake yourself into a corner anymore, okay?” 

You knew full well you could not be sure to keep a single promise on that list, but you felt you owed it to her to try to be normal and appropriate for just one night. 

The line went still, but you thought you picked up on a sniffle. 

“My child, I will _always_ worry. That does not mean I cannot leave you to your own decisions. Once, I did not protect you when I should have. Then I protected you when I could, for as long as I could, but this is no longer about what I think is best for you. First and foremost, all that matters to me is your happiness, and I do not want to be that crotchety old woman who cannot deal with change in her life. Also yes, please do bring him for dinner. Hell, bribe him if you need to. And if you won't, I will. I think I still have some dirt on him after all these years,” she finished with a watery laugh. 

You didn't bother to mention the difference between bribery and blackmail. Instead, you told her you would in a voice that was _not_ tight with emotion and said goodbye after settling on seven-thirty. You got up and entered the building from the side door, dialing Sans. He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey,” he said as you buzzed past the mail desk. Only he didn’t just say it, he breathed it, low and soft and so casual. You were still not yet recovered from your phone… adventures, and you felt certain the rosiness of your cheeks couldn’t be blamed entirely on the cold you were still trying to shake from outside.

“Uh, do y-” you coughed, “d’you always answer the phone like that? Um, so… listen. Good news!”

“‘M not gonna like this, am I?”

“I just got off the phone with my mom, and-”

“Aw, shit.”

“Don’t ‘aw shit’, you don’t know what I was about to say!”

“Dinner?”

“Uh- yeah, but-”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah…”

“She’ll blackmail me if I say no?”

“More like a bribe? Quiche bribe?” Semantics...

He sighed.

“Yup. Let’s do it. What time?”

Wow. That was easy.

“Seven thir-uh, fifteen.”

“Kay. An’ jus’ for the record,” he drawled, “You still haven’t finished what you started.”

And then he hung up.

Well, you weren’t exactly done, yet, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're actually getting along for once? What the shit???? Is this even the same story anymore???
> 
> as always, feel free to come yell at me [here](http://auntie-diluvian.tumblr.com). I've got anon and submissions open and my life is one big shitpost sooo.


	8. The Kind of Apology That Really Penetrates to the Heart of the Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year! A whole year! Since I posted the first chapter of this or any other fic.
> 
> I'm probably about to write a big embarrassing post about it and how much I appreciate all of you guys on my tumblr in a little while, but for now I just want to send this out into the world because I've delayed it far too long already, and for that I apologize.

From the moment you had set foot in your cubicle after lunch, you’d been inundated with work and phone calls to such an extent that Sans’s words from earlier became a thorn in your side. He didn't repeat them after the first time, but the implication still needled you with every hurried message exchanged; finish what you started. Had you not been on your last nerve at work, you might have found his approaching-needy flirting much more flattering. He tried to convince you to skype him in the bathroom at work (he attempted to play this off as a “joke”, but you know pouting when you see it), which, while a totally reasonable, classy, sexy request, was something you just didn't have the time for. By five, you were exhausted, tense, and not that you would ever give him the satisfaction of knowing this (unless it suited you), but in need of a change of underwear.

You nearly dozed off at the stop light in front of your mother's neighborhood two hours later. 

When you pulled into the driveway, you found Sans standing on the front porch with one hand dangling from the door knocker by a fingertip, his forehead resting against the dark paneled wood. The slam of your car door spooked him upright and he turned to face you, dazed.

“Y’know,” you called to him as you approached, “There’s a doorbell too, if knocking is too analog for you sciencey genius types.”

“nah, knocking is kinda my specialty. ‘sides, that kinda sarcasm’ll only brring brring you down to my level.”

“Better than eye level,” you shot back as you climbed the top step and reclaimed the inches you had on him.

“‘s a low blow. you're good at those,” he said, his voice flat and his eyes lidded.

You snorted. “Was that innuendo or are you just still pouting about me not answering any of your skype calls this afternoon? Uh, all _eight_ of them.”

“yup.” That grin. “heh, guess the third through eighth times weren’t the charm after all.” 

“Well, you'll live,” you said, a note of irritation creeping into your voice, “but I'm glad you noticed, I am good at those.” You fought a losing battle to keep the corners of your lips from turning your expression into something unbearably smug. “Shall we?” You leaned toward the door. 

His face was unreadable under the shadows cast by the winter moths crowding the porch light. He moved away from the door rather than toward it, choosing instead to lean against the siding next to the doorbell. 

“you look sharp. clean up nice. ‘s this what you grownups wear to work these days?” He stroked the lapel of your blazer, feeling the material.

“Only when we're too busy fucking to remember to do our laundry.”

His hand hesitated for a fraction of a second, joints spasming before he released his pinch.

“oh.”

“Yeah, so,” you gestured once more to the door. He looked like he was trying to melt into the wall.

“uh, you go on inside, i just need a minute for my life to stop flashing before my eyes.”

You grimaced and started fidgeting with the hair on the nape of your neck. 

“Shit, shit, I know. I know. I'm sorry. You're being so cool about this but I know it’s really weird. Like, _really weird_. And just. Thank you.”

He shrugged your apology and thanks off as per usual, but at some point over the course of the day it had slipped your mind that this situation -- you know, the one where the guy you haven't even officially been dating for twenty-four hours is blackmailed into having dinner with you and your mother, who also happens to be one of his oldest friends -- might be a _teensy_ bit much for even a well-adjusted person to handle. 

Then there was the vibrator.

You could afford to buy him some time to come to grips with what the evening had in store. You maybe even owed him as much.

“Okay. Yeah. Right. Just come in when you're ready.”

With a swift kiss to his temporal bone and an elbow nudge you could only hope was somehow reassuring to him, you slipped inside. 

There was a vanilla scented candle burning on the coffee table in the living room, a clever attempt at disguising the fact that the entire house already smelled like a Keebler elf’s boudoir due to your mom’s marathon baking. As you got closer to the kitchen, the ambient temperature climbed several degrees and the air fairly sparked with traces of magic.

“Hey, mom,” you called so as not to startle her. 

“Oh! You're here! I'm just finishing up!”

You certainly hoped so, since she had run out of counter space about an hour ago, by your estimation.

“Oh, only a few pies and cakes,” you teased, parroting her singsong words from earlier back to her. “And cupcakes and cookies and a quiche. And is that banana nut bread?”

“Zucchini,” she corrected dourly. 

“What about those muffins?”

“...Banana nut.”

You leaned against the doorframe, laughing quietly.

“-Well! Some people have nut allergies and I didn’t think of that until after I'd made the muffins, and I happened to have some extra zucchini I ended up not using for dinner and- Oh, hush,” she warned, a smile nevertheless pulling at the corners of her eyes. “I'm glad you were able to come visit.”

She wound up an egg timer and, shoving one of her potholders under a glass pie dish, took you into a hug. 

“Aw, mom,” you chided, “‘course I came. What kind of person would I have to be not to come eat dinner with my mom every once in a while?”

She squeezed you a little tighter before releasing you. 

“Especially when she nearly resorts to blackmailing a guy!” You beamed at her and dodged out of the way of a tossed potholder. She huffed dismissively.

“Well. Is he…”

“Yeah, mom, he'll be here.”

She chuckled. “Yes, I should think so.”

She resumed finishing dinner, not noticing your grimace. You washed your hands and busied yourself trying to consolidate at least some of the cooled baked goods so they didn’t take up so much counter space as she chattered at you about the bake sale and the new standardized tests and the school board. Easy topics. Nothing yet about the stolen artifact or anything further about your new… your new boyfriend. It was early, still, though. That was all to come soon enough, doubtless.

The doorbell sounded and your mother called for Sans to let himself in. Moments later, he occupied your previous position at the doorway to the kitchen.

Toriel took more time than usual to dry her hands, but spun around, appearing to an untrained eye effortlessly cheerful as ever, glad to see an old friend.

“Sans! Good to see you, I’m glad you were able to make it.”

“hey, it’s no skin off my back.”

She gave him a thin-lipped smile that only just reached the corners of her eyes, and after a too-long pause, resumed slicing a tomato.

“Why don't you two go have a seat at the table, I am very nearly finished in here and, oh, Frisk, would you take these out? They should be cool enough by now…”

You balanced a cupcake on the edge of the platter you'd been filling and took two different kinds of quiches out to the dinner table. Sans took a seat next to you, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts but that his eyes were focused on something not entirely on this plane of existence.

“Sans? ...Sans.”

He inhaled sharply as he turned to face you, as if he'd forgotten you were next to him.

“It's gonna be okay.”

“yup,” he ground out.

“I've got your back.”

“ok,” he wheezed.

The clatter of plates and serving spoons preceded Toriel’s dish-laden entrance. Everything arranged to her satisfaction, she, too, took a seat. She looked at you both expectantly. 

“Well? Help yourselves.”

At her urging, you and Sans loaded your plates with quiche and vegetables and roast chicken, your uneasiness growing with each slice and spoonful under her scrutiny.

“So,” she said, her tone as clipped as the clink of her fork spearing a chunk of zucchini, “how was your weekend, Sans?”

His fork, carrying nothing to his mouth but a fragment of quiche crust, paused in midair.

“‘s been good, mostly been hangin’ around the house, helpin’ pap test out some of his projects.”

“Very nice. I'm sure he appreciates the extra help.”

She looked back down at her plate again and you nudged Sans’s ankle with your foot to get his attention for the very surreptitious thumbs up you wanted to give him. See? your thumb said, this ain't so bad.

He stared at you, unfazed by your trademark last-ditch optimism, and you felt it beginning to crumble, yourself.

“So, mom, have you seen Mettaton’s new movie? Robocop 5?”

“No, I haven’t! Is it good?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Without going into a litany about everything that was wrong with it (most things), there wasn’t much else to say on that front. You briefly wondered if you should mention the fact that Mettaton and Papyrus were now dating, but you figured that was already something of an uncomfortable topic for Sans, and Toriel probably already knew, given the fact that Mettaton was her brunch buddy. Failing that, you switched tactics.

“Your snapdragons out front look great already, I don’t know how you do it. Did you notice them, Sans?”

“w...which ones were those?”

“The light pink, kinda tall ones?”

“oh. yeah. really great.”

“Thank you.”

God damn, if your goal was to burn through safe conversation topics at the speed of apathy, you were on a roll. Otherwise, you were fucked. You clenched a fist under the table. In every movement, every expression, Sans was already nonverbally pleading with you to stop. Well, fine, you would stop when you found a safe conversation topic to last the next few minutes, at least..

“Uh, so I heard… Do you remember Britha? I went to high school with her, she was a year behind me, I think?”

Your mother nodded and Sans shook his head and shrugged.

“Well, she got engaged last week, apparently to some kind of billionaire. Yeah, they’re planning on spending their honeymoon whale-watching, I heard.”

“better hope he doesn’t fall off the boat and become a krillionaire.”

You nearly choked.

“or that the boat doesn’t spring a leak. if that happens, they’ll be baleen themselves out.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, but your amusement was short lived. Discomfort radiated still from the head of the table. 

“Mom, c’mon, you’ve laughed at way stupider jokes than that.”

“I apologize, I’m afraid this just isn’t working for me.”

“Yeah, we could tell.”

“it’s okay. maybe this was a bad idea. i can go,” he said, already pushing his chair back.

“No, that’s- come on, don’t go!”

“Maybe that would be best.”

“Mom!”

She fixed Sans with an angry, betrayed glare. “This is exactly what I was afraid of, and you knew it. You knew it! I... almost wish you’d just stay gone.”

“right. yeah, that makes sense,” he said, barely audible over the metallic rumbling of the dryer two rooms away.

“I'm sorry. I don’t really mean that… please excuse me.”

Her chair scraped across the floor as she stood carelessly and retreated into the kitchen. 

“Uhh, what?” you asked nobody in particular, your indignation rearing its head long before your comprehension.

“‘s fine. you should probably go talk to her,” said Sans. 

“Jesus, are you okay?”

“yeah, yeah. she's not wrong.”

“What, you’re defending her? Oh, who’m I kidding, of course you are. You know, I kind of don't care whether or not she was right, though, she shouldn't have… I don't know, man. You sure you're okay?”

“yeah, go,” he sighed.

He slumped backwards in his chair and poked his fork at his food with a listless hand. You gave his shoulder a squeeze as you stood. You'd deal with him later. 

You found her wiping down the only unoccupied space on the counter in repeated tight circles. For such a small space, she was really putting some elbow grease into it. 

“I think that square foot of counter space is probably clean, now,” you said as lightly as you could manage.

She balked at you and tossed the rag into the sink. 

“I was going to be nice tonight, you know? After that big, silly speech I gave you this afternoon, I swore to myself I wouldn't do, well, exactly what I've just done.”

You smiled, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah? What gives?”

She braced her forearms on the counter as she leaned onto it, her head hanging low.

“I saw him and… and poof! I just got so angry. I thought we had an understanding.”

Your stomach clenched in apprehension.

“About me?”

Silence, as she examined the pan of brownies in front of her that you'd swear hadn't been there a half hour ago.

“Well, yes,” she said carefully, pausing for her right words. “Wouldn't you? Not, mind you, an explicit agreement, but is ‘Do Not Date Your Friends’ Children’ really so unreasonable a rule to expect him to follow? I believe that's one that goes without saying for most people, though your... tenacity as a teenager forced me to address it more directly.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and held on. 

“I know,” she continued, “I know. There are… mitigating factors in his favor, and I'm sure you did your fair share of convincing. I'll even believe, to his credit, that he _needed_ convincing, that he had, I don’t know, reservations. And it’s not as if I failed to see this coming. Even prepared myself for it, to an extent. And I _d-_ ” Her breath caught her short, and she raised a hand up to settle delicately, just beneath her throat. “I _do want_ so much for you to be happy, of course I do. But, oh, Frisk. What am I going to do if he hurts you?”

You broke down and hugged her. 

“I like to imagine,” you said, breaking into a grin, “you'd do pretty much the same thing as me, only about a million times scarier and more efficient.”

“And what's that?”

“Make him apologize.”

She huffed a laugh into your shoulder. “Yes, I suppose I would. Speaking of which, I suppose I owe him one, now. And… and you, as well.”

“That's fine for him, but if you're just gonna make me cr- uh, almost make me cry again, let's not and say we did.”

“That is absolutely fair. Let's go attempt to restore normalcy to this evening.”

As you followed her back into the dining room where Sans had been dissecting an artichoke heart in your absence, you remembered the little brown paper bag and its contents you had tucked under your chair. You didn’t have the heart to tell her your doubts on how possible normalcy still was.

She sat, leaning forward to direct all of her attention towards him. He coughed uneasily, sparing a brief accusatory glance in your direction.

You shrugged. 

“Sans, I have much to apologize for. More than I should attempt to cover in one sitting, but-”

He set his fork down.

“tori, that's a load of horseshit, you don't have to do this,” he interrupted. “and you weren't wrong, anyway.”

He kept _saying_ that. Leave it to him to speak entirely in negatives.

“Not about everything, perhaps. Regardless, I think it may be time you gave yourself some credit for how far you’ve come.”

It was the most opaque apology you'd ever heard, and you could only guess what, exactly, she was getting at, but it seemed to take a lot out of her to say it, and him to consider it.

“i don’t know about that, but you were the one sellin’ me on how important it was.”

“I still believe that. That hasn’t changed.”

“on how it was gonna help me.”

“And I can tell it has, yes.”

Your eyes pinged back and forth between them. You listened to conversations every day at work where you only had part of the full scope of the situation, so it bothered you that this one was making you feel _small_.

Sans gripped the edge of the table with both hands, looking at her only sidelong.

“then you did me a favor. and you don’t have to apologize for doin’ me a favor, ok?”

“I’m apologizing because you know as well as I do that those were not my primary motivations. I’m apologizing, because ultimately, I was selfish.”

He laughed and snuck a glance at you, next to him, devouring a slice of quiche in hopes of appearing uninterested..

“bizarre definition of selfish if you ask me. but whatever, tori. it’s fine. we can talk about this later, right?”

She sighed and gave him a small, sad, but finally genuine smile.

“As you say.”

The next few minutes passed in heavy silence but for scraping cutlery. The conversational interstice was weighing on you and you were just getting more irritable by the second. You had to do something or you’d say something regrettable, like there wasn't already enough of that going around.

Well, there was at least one more order of business on the evening’s agenda. Of course, there was the very real risk that it might only make things worse, but it had to be dealt with. You might as well. It’s not like you were going to _enjoy it_ ever so slightly if it made the both of them uncomfortable.

It’s not spite if you were going to do it, anyway. Right?

You set down your fork and reached down by your leg, where the paper bag with the vibrator in it leaned against the table leg.

You nudged Sans’s knee under the table and he stole a glance at what you were holding and-

“don’t.”

_I'm sorry,_ you mouthed.

“frisk. no. c’mon. _timing,_ for fuck’s sake,” he hissed.

You grimaced in apology. You were maybe, actually, a little bit sorry. Not enough to _stop you,_ though, come on.

“Uh, mom?”

“Yes?”

“Um, so, I have some good news and some bad news. Uh, the good news is, I found your… artifact!”

She blinked and shook her head.

“You… I'm sorry, you… what?”

“Aaand the bad news is, w- uh- _I_ am the one that took it.”

Sans’s body was somewhere around 70 percent off his chair and sinking steadily towards the floor. The vibrator made a gentle, hollow _plonk_ when placed on the table.

Without warning, she made a noise the likes of which you had only heard once before, when some teenagers taking cell phone videos had, as politely as anyone is able to ask a total stranger to ‘do it for the Vine’, asked as much of her while at an outdoor shopping mall, around the time those videos of _goats, screaming_ became popular.

This time, however, instead of timidly asking if she had “done the Vine correctly,” the noise broke into something more closely resembling her normal laugh. 

When she finally calmed down enough to speak in between gasping for air, she fixed her gaze on you, on Sans, on anything in the room that wasn’t the vibrator, because every time she caught a glimpse of it, she began snorting again.

“Thank you… I... think I… needed that… I haven’t laughed… that much in… ages…”

“yyyou... are so welcome,” said Sans, though you could almost see the question marks circling his skull.

“Yeah, mom, any time.”

“Oh, goodness… heavens… I can't believe I've been so silly. Why on earth would you have taken _that_ old thing?”

“Uh, well, what happened was…” God, how the fuck do you explain sex toys to your mother? If she even still needed an explanation. That much was unclear. You were just going to have to be a mature adult about it. You cleared your throat. 

“...Sans?”

He looked at you like you were out of your goddamn mind.

“no.”

“Yeah, no, right, yeah no, good point. Uh, so, mom,” you placed your elbows on the table and steepled your fingers in front of you, trying to be as clinical as possible. “A-are you familiar with the concept of a se- a m-marital aid?”

Sans snorted and you kicked his shin gently, with the side of your foot.

“Yes, I” _snort_ “I am aware of what that is.”

You jolted in your seat and threw your hands up in the air. “Then why’d you act like you didn’t know? When you showed it to me?”

“Because it was funny. You should have seen your face.”

“Mom?!”

“I’m a cool mom. He’s laughing,” she gestured. Ugh.

“You know this is beyond us, now, right? The whole town’s talking about your ‘missing artifact’.”

That sobered her up.

“What? No, no. That isn’t possible. I haven’t told anyone except for Mettat- oh. Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, guess who blackmailed me over voicemail yesterday afternoon.”

Toriel gasped.

“He wouldn’t-”

“-He would.”

“-yeah, he would.”

“You’re right, of course. Still, I can’t believe… I never meant for this to get so blown out of proportion, though! The whole town…! I don’t know why I ever tell him anything,” she huffed, “but he could tell something was upsetting me and I just didn’t think anything of it.”

“Upset? Over this thing? You know you just laughed in my face for like, five minutes, right? Why?”

She sighed, pushing her now mostly-empty plate away from her.

“Hmm. That’s a tale I haven’t told in a very long time. Would you like to hear it?”

“oh, hell yes.”

“I think we’re good.”

“or- no? c’mon...”

“...Yeah, sure, fine.”

She made herself comfortable.

“Well, it really did fall to the Underground from above, before Asgore and I ever even had any children, which was… heavens, a very long time ago, so, you know,” she dropped into her ‘mild scolding’ tone here, “it actually is an artifact and as such you probably shouldn’t have stolen it just because it offended your sensibilities. But I digress! We each used to hide it around the house for the other to find when it was least expected. My favorite hiding spot was on the edge of the top shelf in the closet, so when he opened the door too quickly, it would fall on his head.”

“heh. nice.”

“Thank you, I thought so, too. Of course, the years went by and our little game lost most of its novelty, so, after a while, we had mostly forgotten about it. Then, one day, or I suppose, really, it had been brewing for quite a while prior, but one day, we fought. We had always had our squabbles, but this… I don’t even remember what it was about, anymore, but I do remember how exhausting it was, being so cold to each other in our own home. I think we must not have spoken for… I don’t know, weeks, perhaps. Which is, of course, nothing compared to… well, anyway.” She brushed imaginary crumbs off the napkin in her lap.

“Then I suppose he got it into his head that he needed to apologize. I was digging around under the sink for, I don’t know, a duster or something. I wasn’t looking, and I grabbed _that_ instead, and it had a little note on it. I don’t know how long he must have waited for me to find that thing, but for all his waiting, it just said, ‘Sorry.’ Not even, ‘I’m sorry,’ just, ‘Sorry.’ It took me some time to accept such an apology, as I'm sure you can imagine. But I did come around eventually, once he had attempted to rectify the situation through other means, and I presented it to him as a means of letting him know I had received and accepted his apology. And so it was the next time we argued, and the next. Whoever needed to apologize would hide it, and whoever accepted the apology would present it. Of course, it wasn't a perfect system. Sometimes one of us would owe the other an apology for weeks before it would ever be found, or sometimes we would, by virtue of not remembering where we had stored it last, both attempt and fail to apologize to each other, so really it was more of a backup, symbolic gesture of peace.”

“Like an olive branch,” you offered.

“Yes, exactly! Only bluer, and funnier, and… kind of small and puny,” she snickered. 

“oh, jesus christ, i didn’t sign up for this,” said Sans, covering his eyes. 

“You know, it's almost kind of cute, really,” she said, wistfully resting her cheek in her palm.

You, yourself, winced. There were far too many implications to that statement to process.

“So, back to why you were so horribly upset that you blabbed to Mettaton?”

“Ah, yes. Well, that part of the story is more recent. A few years ago, we were running into some costs for the museum that hadn't been allocated for in the Embassy’s grant, and just when we were going to have to start making some rather unpalatable compromises, we received a large donation from an anonymous source. It enabled us to keep working as scheduled and to pay for everything we needed, but I set out to find this… this generous donor. Finally, two weeks ago, I had my suspicions confirmed. It was Asgore, because of course it was. Still, in my opinion, sticking his snout where it doesn't belong. Although, you can't really say that, can you, when you are working on a museum about monster history and culture, and the person you are talking to was the king? He… _helpfully_ pointed this out to me when I foolishly confronted him about it.”

“oh.”

“Damn.”

“I was so pi- excuse me, ticked off! I said that he had no right to do that, and he said that he had every right to do that and that my pride was preventing me from seeing the larger picture, and… well, I now realize I may have been a bit too hasty to condemn him on this particular issue.”

You took a sip of your water. “So, that's why you, what, felt the need to apologize to him? That's not so bad. You guys argue all the time!”

You should be a conflict mediator. Put that on the sash next to ‘Local Dating Expert’ and you might actually impress someone.

“Well, that and… I may have also slightly… listed off three hundred some-odd years of heretofore unaired grievances that had nothing to do with that specific argument in a… a bit of passionate rhetoric.”

“You cussed him out.”

“A bit, yes.”

“For how long?”

“It's a bit of a blur, really. Um, but it was getting dark by the time I finished.”

“Oh, shit.”

“So, you see, I was upset because I wasn't sure whether or not he'd seen the damn thing and simply not forgiven me yet, or not seen it at all, or if he'd forgotten all about it- well, it was a stupid idea, anyway. But, now I know!”

The three of you picked at your food in silence for a few minutes.

“It wasn't that bad of an idea,” you said finally.

“It wasn't that good of an idea, either. No, I think perhaps a more impersonal, standard apology better fits the circumstances.”

“But the argument _was_ personal, clearly, so don't you think it should be-”

“Perhaps you are right,” she said, cutting you off, “and when you next find yourself making an apology you will do as you see fit, but I think for now it's best to just forget this.”

“Yeah, sorry, you're right, it's none of my business.”

You didn't miss the questioning look Sans shot you as you quietly backed down. You shook your head, but only just. 

“In the meantime, I have to- I'm going to move this somewhere… um, somewhere not here, it's… it's _looking_ at me,” she said, gingerly carrying the thing out of the room.

Sans elbowed you in the ribs with an awful smirk.

The rest of dinner was uneventful, and as such, a much-needed respite from heavier or weirder topics. There was still some lingering awkwardness in the air, some unanswered questions lurking under the table, but it seemed the worst was over. Sans explained his latest research project in his typical infuriating way, effortlessly getting the general point across in layman's terms without seeming to care one whit about it. You and Toriel both complained at him about one of the “grandfathered-in” administrative higher-ups at the embassy; Sans took this in stride, managing not to appear more-than-usually bored despite having no idea who the guy was.

By the time Toriel brought dessert out, the three of you were content to pick at it a spoonful at a time in an almost-comfortable silence.

You stood and stretched, moving slowly from the weight of the day and from being so full, and made your way to the bathroom. When you finished up, you passed by the armoire on your way back and spotted the blue menace on the main shelf, where Toriel had deposited it earlier so it wouldn’t be staring the three of you down as you ate.

You peeked around the corner into the dining room

You flexed your hands. You cracked your knuckles. This was your mess, partially, probably. You could fix _this_ , at the very least. You could finish what you started. What Toriel had started and wouldn't see through. 

Into the bag once more it went.

Surely it would take her a while to notice its absence. Again. Right? God, you hoped so. That was not a conversation you wanted to have. Again.

You wanted to say goodnight to your mom before you left, but the twin hushed, low voices in the kitchen had you reconsidering, not having any desire to participate in a second round of Try to Decipher the Coded Language That Still Clearly At Least Partially Concerns You. You caught only snippets.

“-nah, i meant it, we can do this later.”

“-but I _have_ wronged you, Sans-”

“-was years ago, an’ anyway....were right as usual-”

...Maaaybe you would just text her goodnight later.

“‘Night mom, I’m heading out! Love you!” you shouted from the entryway, twisting the knob.

“What? Oh! Good night! I love you, too! Be safe!” she responded in kind, if a bit distracted, from the kitchen. That would have to do for the time being.

The temperature had dropped several degrees since nightfall and you shivered, drawing the front of your wool coat closed. You cleared a few damp leaves off the top porch step and sat.

You would give him five minutes. No, ten. Ten minutes was a reasonable amount of time to wait for them to... To sort out whatever it was they were talking about in there. If ten minutes came and went, you would just go home, alone, halfway wondering if your mom was keeping Sans in the basement, holding a terrifying inquisition on your unsolicited behalf.

The door squeaked open. 

“-ultimatum? i barely know ‘em!”

...Or they were just swapping jokes. 

“Very funny,” she said in a tone intended to indicate that it was _not_ funny, but she nevertheless failed to hold back a smile. “Good night Sans, please get home safely.”

He gave her a mock salute as the door closed behind him, so you stood and turned to face him.

“hey, thanks for waiting.”

“Uh, sure, no problem… So….?”

“so.” He paused for a moment, then- “so i can't believe i just had to listen to your mom’s ye olde tales about how she an’ Asgore used to play hide the weiner. also, ‘puny’? i guess now we know why she doesn't date much...”

You staggered and let everything above the waist collapse like a push puppet at how much that was not the answer you were aiming at.

“Don't be gross.” Recovering, you pushed past him as you headed to your car. 

“don' look at me, it was already gross. there was _food_ on the table, frisk. and ya just- _plonk_.”

Rolling your eyes, you started to climb into the driver's seat of your car.

“so you, uh… you headin’ home?” he asked, his voice light with affected indifference. 

“After I make a quick stop to leak the full exclusive on the missing artifact to the press for millions of dollars, yeah.”

“heh, right, right… the people need to know.”

He rubbed at the base of his jaw, looking off down the street. 

You inhaled, eyes closed.

“You can come with me, you know. I mean, I haven't forgotten about what we were talking about earlier, so...” You gestured half-heartedly, not needing much else to get your point across to someone who’d been leading you to it.

“i can get us there faster,” he said, his tone shifting way out of indifference as his grin widened. 

You felt your own lips quirk.

“Yeah, but that would leave my car here.”

“and?”

“In my mom’s driveway.”

He just looked at you.

“Overnight. In the morning, she'll be like, ‘Goodness me, I do hope Frisk made it home safely last night! Ah, but here is their vehicle still parked in my driveway. They must have gone with Sans, because, you know, teleporting is a thing he does sometimes, ergo they were swiftly and unceremoniously debauched-’” 

“-unceremoniously?”

“‘-the second I finished speaking with them, which is not an okay thing for me to know about them, because I am their mother.’”

He squinted at you for a long while. 

“you plonked your mom’s old sex toy on the table at dinner and this is what you're embarrassed about. you’re incredible.”

“Thanks! Well, I'd still rather not leave her with the evidence, so are you coming or not?” you finished with a yawn. 

“well, jeez, not right this second. …a little demanding… why, are you?”

Satisfied with himself, he hopped into the passenger's seat and strapped in as you turned the key in the ignition.

He rode in silence for the first few minutes, looking out the window.

“i use so many shortcuts around town, i sometimes forget what these streets actually look like. lot’s changed.” His voice was quiet, pensive.

“Has it? I guess it's been so gradual, I hardly notice it.”

“yeah, it's kinda hitting me all at once, y’know?”

Your eyes were on the road, but you felt his gaze settle on your profile. You came to a red light.

“What?” you asked abruptly, an awkward thrill running through you. 

“nothin’.” He focused on the floorboard and seemed to notice the paper bag for the first time since he’d gotten in your car. “oh, hey, what's in the bag? didja manage to score some left-ohh-”

The light turned green.

“-kay, the... fuck?”

You pursed your lips and held your breath.

“no, really, i… i think you have a problem. it's a really weird, an’... weirdly specific problem to have, but…” He shook his head, pulling the vibrator out of the bag like he was performing the world’s saddest, weirdest magic trick. “you have _got_ to stop stealing your mom’s vibrator. i think maybe you need an intervention.”

“I can stop any time I want!”

“that's what they all say,” he deadpanned, but you thought you saw a silent chuckle out of the corner of your eye. “but next thing you know it's ruining your life.”

You pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex and parked, but left the engine running.

“How do you figure that?”

“well, uh, for starters, you’ve managed to wind up stuck with me, somehow.”

He was still grinning, but you looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. He starts rambling to fill the silence.

“i mean, y’know, not as a direct result, more as the product of a lot of bizarre, converging circumstances that i… uh… heh, whoops.”

You covered his hand with your own, lightly, just this side of hesitant.

“Maybe… maybe, if this is the kind of lifestyle I can expect from stealing my mom's vibrator, I should actually do it more often.”

He slumped down in his seat. 

“oh my god.”

“I'll be the Legendary Adult Novelty Item Bandit of Ebbot Valley.”

“if ya ask me to call you that in bed, i’m not doin’ it… probably.”

“Hashtag LANIBEV. Yeah. _Yeah_. If that's not trending by the end of the month, I will set my ass on fire. Literally.”

“why are you like this.”

“Because I'm glad I wound up here.” You cleared your throat. “Uh, with you. Whether or not it's because I stole a light-up, blue, fake dick, once or twice.”

“ok,” he said, and for a moment, you wished you could take it back, stuff the words back in your mouth and swallow them, embarrassed by even such a small display of sincerity.

“Uh, so, do you wanna come-”

He leaned over the center console, reached both arms around your neck, and filled your field of vision, gently pressing his teeth to the corner of your mouth.

“-inside?” you finished, dazed, as he sat back down. 

“that was the plan, wasn't it?” he said with a wink. He didn't miss a beat, but his cheekbones had a greenish tint from the yellow light of the streetlamp.

“Gross. You’re a gross little man.”

He scooted out of your car, you turned off the engine, and you both made the short trek up to your apartment.

“hey, you think this is what freud meant when he was goin’ on about penis envy?”

“Somehow, I don't.”

“what’re you even gonna do with it?”

“With this?” you held up the bag. 

“nah, with the nobel peace prize at the end of all this. yeah, _that_. the silicone schlong. your mom’s man-made man meat. the-”

“I'm gonna give it to Asgore.”

“wait, you’re… you’re just gonna _give_ it to him? like... ‘here ya go, it’s your old friend, the mutton monster, jr.-” You gently but firmly placed your hand over his mouth.

“No.”

“good, ‘cuz you have no tact at all,” he said, his voice muffled by your fingers. “so what're you gonna do instead?”

“I've gotta play the game, like mom would. I have to plant it somewhere he can find it, so that maybe, with the right encouragement, they will actually, you know, have a productive conversation with each other at least once this millenium. Do you think it could work?”

He shrugged. “maybe. how’re you gonna get in his house?”

“I… wasn’t? I was thinking I'd hide it somewhere in his office.”

“someone else might find it and take it,” he said, his agenda on the tip of each syllable.

“Right, right. Someone besides me. I see what you're saying. Lots of people out there, _besides me_ , just waiting for a good opportunity to steal a, let me remind you, _possibly used_ sex toy, from His fucking Highness…”

“...oh, so you _don't_ have a plan, you just don't like mine. cool, that is really cool. yeah, maybe it's better if you just leave me out of this part.”

“I hadn't planned on asking you anyway?”

“what? why the fuck not?” His voice cracked.

You sighed.

“Fine. Sans, will you pretty please with a cherry on top mastermind my platonic parent trap scheme for me?”

“dunno, i’ll have to think about it.”

This asshole.

“yeah, fine, i’ll do it.”

“How generous of you.”

You finally reached the door to your apartment and turned the key in the lock.

You weren't entirely sure what you were expecting once you shut the door behind you, but you realized you were evidently expecting _something_ when he surprised you by stepping over to the side and examining the contents of your bookcase. You left him there in the living room to drop off your things from work in the bedroom and take off your shoes, and when you returned, he was bent over, getting a better look at your pet rock collection. 

He straightened slowly as he heard you reenter the room. 

“So, um, did you wanna…” You pointedly directed your gaze from him to your bedroom door, then back again.

He wasted no time, appearing right in front of you, the displacement of air ruffling your hair just the tiniest bit.

“all goddamn day, ya heinous fuckin’ creature.”

“Heinous?” you echoed as you shuffled backward, leading him to your room.

The place could be cleaner, but he’d be the last person to care, especially at a time like this. Still, you nudged an article of clothing you were fairly certain was yesterday's underwear under a pile of laundry with your foot as you neared your bed.

The bed frame clicked and creaked with your weight, and then his, as the two of you eased onto the bed together, slow and deliberate. It was that deliberation which so preoccupied you as his face lowered past yours and nudged your head gently aside so he could have better access to the very same spot where your pulse was making a nuisance of itself. This was no accident. This was no mistake. This was not a rushed, panicked, stubborn, frenzied, rash, possibly ill-advised and worse-prepared agreement like you had entered into twice in the last 72 hours.

He was there, pressing jagged fissures worn smooth and the flats of his teeth into the goosebumps on the crook of your neck, and he was doing it on purpose; he'd said himself he'd been thinking about it all day.

Of course, everything else had been on purpose, if with varying degrees of impulsiveness taken into account, but this was so… _calming_. You returned in kind every touch but your hands and lips and hips were sluggish compared to his. He didn't seem to mind, in fact he slowed his own pace to match yours, leaving you sighing contentedly, if not a bit drowsily, with each languid squeeze and stroke. 

Eventually, all movement ground to a halt as you both took a breather.

“Has today felt kinda different, to you, too?” you asked, staring at a strand of spiderweb on your ceiling. 

“uh, how?”

“Today’s been… almost more like, before this whole year, when we still kinda talked a lot.”

“yeah, i guess so. think that's a bad thing?”

“No, I don't. Do you?”

“not if you don't. although, i can think of a few pretty noticeable ways it's different,” he said, gesturing with his eyes down to the tent in his shorts. 

“Uh, yep, that sure is different,” you grinned.

You leaned forward to kiss him again, but found yourself caught in a yawn. He raised his eyebrows, waiting. You were about to unhinge your jaw from this yawn.

“wow, you’re really goin’ for gold, there, huh?”

You nodded, still yawning, holding a finger up. When you finally finished and cracked your eyes open, you found him grinning at you with the dopiest expression you’d ever seen on him, head cocked to the side.

He snorted. “ya tired?”

“Yeah, but not _too_ tired, we can still-”

“look, i’m practic’ly a bicycle, i’m such an expert on bein’ too-tired, and that’s clearly what you are. we don’t have to… i didn’t mean to give the impression i was expecting anything...”

“I- no, we’re good. We’re good. I…” You held his gaze, chewing on your bottom lip, upwards of 10 seconds before you finally capitulated. “You know what, just gimme like ten minutes. To rest my eyes. I read somewhere that, um, if you just rest your eyes, or whatever, it's almost as good as actual sleep,” you mumbled. “And then, in ten minutes, I'll wake up, or, no, I'll have... still been... awake and I'll be _totally_ alert. Aaand we'll have the best- no, like, I'm gonna blow your goddamn mind, okay? In ten minutes. Wake me up. I'm serious. You promise?”

You didn't have the energy to argue with his disbelieving grin as he agreed to your terms, but you would in ten minutes, you'd show him…

  
  


Someone jostled you awake.

“hey, it's been ten minutes. you made me promise to wake you up, so… you know you snore like a freight train, right?”

“Mm-mm.”

“yeah ya do, recorded it on my phone.”

“Mm-mm.”

“if you insist. so do you wanna change into pajamas or something?”

“Mm-mm.”

“you... wanna brush your teeth?”

“Mm-mm.”

“haha, gross.”

  
  


His voice woke you up again, you weren’t sure how much later.. 

“uh, hey, s-should i… go?”

“Mm-mm.”

“should i get a face tattoo?”

“Mm-hm.”

“cool, just checking, but i’ll probably actually hold you to that one, if it ever comes up. should i turn out the light?”

“Mm-hm.”

“k.”

He climbed under the covers with you and you reached up to turn out the light. You opened your eyes, as they had already become accustomed to the dark. 

“G’night.”

“‘night.”

Maybe, eventually, you’d get used to having someone to say good night out loud to, but this was novel enough for the time being to postpone the fall of your eyelids for a little while. He was warm. When he thought you were asleep again, he worked his index in between your middle and ring fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should always brush your teeth before bed.


	9. Stake Me Out Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [I don't wanna let you go till we've played I-Spy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b2H2CJS2IBs&app=desktop)
> 
> What up it has been a Year what the fuck, man. What the fuck.
> 
> I don't know about this chapter, guys. I just really like Brooklyn 99, ok?
> 
> Oh, and here, if you need a refresher and don't feel like rereading the whole damn thing i did a cheesy Previously On: post [here.](http://auntie-diluvian.tumblr.com/post/167429605897/previously-on-the-lost-toy-problem)
> 
> Huge big thanks to [Pyreo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyreo/pseuds/Pyreo), [foxsgloves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxsgloves/pseuds/foxsgloves) and [my fiance](http://wilson-makes-games.tumblr.com/) for beta reading and puttin up with all my whining while i did this

“Fuck,” you hissed, standing clad in a towel, hair and shoulders still dripping on the carpet in front of your closet.

“was gonna last night, but you passed out on me,” mumbled Sans, who was still curled up under the covers and steadily inching towards the side of the bed you had vacated twenty minutes prior with each half-conscious flop of his body.

You were late for work already, your whole morning routine having been upended. 

You had forgotten to do laundry, and the only clean, work-suitable clothes left were the pieces of the suit you had worn to your job interview, now at least half a size too small. Not to mention, you had to wear a binder just to get the shirt to fit right. Everything about the suit, but the jacket and pants especially, was too tight and you could only hope you wouldn't have to do anything that required a full range of motion while wearing it, like driving, or using your arms, or sitting down, or taking slightly deep breaths.

You resolved to put on pajamas as soon as you got home, later.

But it was more than just your reluctance to imprison yourself in old menswear that kept you behind the clock. You were unused to having an entire other (semi-)conscious entity privy to your morning rituals. You thought you had caught him staring at your ass while you were brushing your teeth, and you had  _ definitely _ caught him staring when you stepped out of the shower. And you were even  _ more  _ aware of his presence as you sat alone in your kitchen, scarfing down your banana and absentmindedly sweetening your coffee like any other day, as if you weren't seriously considering calling in sick just to crawl back in bed with him. 

You hovered in your bedroom doorway, fidgeting with your cuffs. 

“Hey, I'm about to head out. You don't have to leave, though.”

He snored. You crept over and crouched next to him, tentatively prodding the lump you thought was his shoulder.

“Sans?”

He snorted himself out of his slumber.

“nnyup.”

“I'm leaving. You don't have to get up, just make sure you turn the little knob on the handle so it locks behind you when you do leave or… yeah, whatever. Do your thing. Sleep as long as you need, ok?”

“k.”

You hesitated, then kissed him on the cheek, unable to stand up until you had done so. His fingertips flew to the spot and you treasured up the slight widening of his eyes at the chaste show of affection. 

“oh. hey. you, uh… heh, you look like the guitar player guy from ac/dc.”

With your face scrunched up and your downstairs neighbors surely unappreciative of the rattling you made emphatically stomping across your apartment, you nearly got your middle finger caught in the doorjamb on your way out, despite his protests that that was definitely a compliment. 

\----

He was gone when you got back of course, no trace of him left other than the chilly humidity in your bathroom from a shower he must have taken hours ago. But no sooner had you fallen into bed with your laptop, wearing plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a well-loved, if not freshly laundered, tie-dyed fundraiser t-shirt, than you received a text.

**Sans:** are you off work yet

**You:** Yeah, just got home. Why, what’s up?

**Sans:** stakeout at asgore’s?

**You:** What? Wait. Sans. What. Seriously?

**Sans:** do vulkin shit pumice

**You:** I don’t know!!!!!!!! Do they????????? This rhetorical question really distresses me dude

**Sans:** i don't wanna say you know you wanna

**You:** Shit pumice??? Or go spy on asgore? Because?? honestly??

**Sans:** (yes.)

**Sans:** but i know you do know you wanna

**Sans:** plus you begged me to help you set your parent trap

**You:** Ohhhhoho, is THAT how that conversation went down?

**Sans:** as i recall yeah

**Sans:** so come over

**You:** man I just changed into my pajamas…….

**Sans:** so? who are you under the impression you're talking to

Fair point. You waffled for a moment, but it wasn’t as if you had plans, and if there was one person in all the world you did not need feel the need to dress up for, it was Sans. His having seen you naked and being your - your boyfriend didn’t need to change that. 

**You:** fine, I'll be there in a bit.

You shoved some sandals on over your socks and grabbed your keys and wallet. When you got there, it was Papyrus who opened the door for you.

“PAJAMAS AT A STAKEOUT? THAT'S MOST UNPROFESSIONAL,  _ DETECTIVE _ .” He lowered his aviators to wink at you. Sans appeared behind him with a pair of binoculars on a strap around his neck, no more dressed for amateur detective work than you.

“yeah, way to make e.v.’s finest look bad.”

“E.V.’s finest  _ what.” _

“‘zactly.”

Papyrus shoved him at you.

“IF THE TWO OF YOU CAN'T LEARN TO RESPECT EACH OTHER AND WORK TOGETHER, YOU'RE OFF THE FORCE!” He slammed a hand against the wall and turned his head away dramatically. “YOU HAVE 72 HOURS TO CRACK THE CASE. NOW GET OUTTA MY SIGHT!” He winked at you again before wandering off to the kitchen.

“Um? Does he know about the, uh… the actual plan, or does he just think we're having, like,  _ really _ immersive kinky roleplaying sex?”

“i’m sure he just thinks stakeouts are a cool activity for buddies. which they are. not everything’s gotta be a weird sex thing,” he said, a touch defensively. “but nah, he doesn’t know about the, uh, bigger picture.”

As if on cue, and in his mind, it may well have been a cue, Papyrus re-emerged from the kitchen.

“WHAT DON'T I KNOW?” He gasped. “ARE YOU TWO DIRTY COPS? DIRTY IN THE UNETHICAL SENSE, NOT THE SEXY ONE. OR, PERHAPS ALSO THE SEXY ONE, IN THE INTEREST OF LEAVING NO STONE UNTURNED.”

“d’ya think we’d tell you if we were?”

Papyrus squinted.

“HMM… IF IT WERE ME,” he muttered, “...AND I'M USUALLY RIGHT… YYYES?”

“well, there ya go.”

“ _ OH, THANK GOD! _ IT'S MY FIRST DAY ON THE JOB, I CAN'T GO ROUND SUSPENDING MY BEST DETECTIVES LEFT AND RIGHT ALREADY!”

“Thanks, uh… uh, captain? We won’t let you down.”

That having been cleared up, you patted down the pockets of your pajama pants, making sure you had what little you’d brought with you.

“So, are we ready? Do we have everything? And more importantly,” you said, tapping a finger on your chin pensively, “do we have time to get snacks?”

Sans scoffed.

“oh, i’m sorry. did we get our wires crossed, or did i not say the word ‘stakeout’? the snacks are handled. damn rookie punk.”

Sans plucked a grocery bag off the coffee table with a hooked forefinger and a smug huff.

Papyrus spasmed, clearly remembering something quite urgent at this late hour.

“OH! DETECTIVES! BEFORE YOU GO, I HAVE IMPORTANT MISSION MATERIALS FOR YOU!”

He bolted off and returned with a grocery bag of his own.

From it, he procured two pairs of plastic sunglasses identical to his own, two fake mustaches, two shiny plastic star-shaped old-timey sheriff's badges, two apples, and two cheese sandwiches with the crusts cut off in little plastic baggies. Once you were both outfitted to his satisfaction, he leaned in the doorway as you both left, blasting what you hypothesized was the theme from Tango & Cash from an ancient boombox he'd placed on the side table specifically for your exceedingly cool slow-motion exit, which you gladly hammed up. For Papyrus’ sake, of course.

Time resumed its normal pace as you both climbed into your car. Still really into the whole detectives thing, though, you grinned, pushed your shades up your nose, let your tires spin and peeled away from the curb, your adopted mustache mysteriously amplifying the adrenaline rush. You drove normally the rest of the way, however, especially once you noticed Sans’ death grip on the window handles, then parked a few houses down from Asgore’s, on the newer, still undeveloped end of the street, and shut off your ignition.

“So what are we looking for?” you asked.

“eh, just stuff like what time he gets home, if he leaves, if he has any appointments, what time he goes to bed, stuff like that. anything we can use.”

“Soo, we're actually casing the joint for B and E at a later date. Guess we really are dirty cops.”

The sun hid behind the trees and houses and you both removed your sunglasses in order to see better. 

“Actually, I’m surprised he’s not home, yet. Haven’t we only got about half an hour left of daylight?”

Sans grunted, dug in the grocery bag for a bag of chisps and a soda, and opened them, the bag tearing down the side and scattering a few crumbs on his shirt already. You stuck your arm in and grabbed a handful of your own.

Due to the fact that you were currently engaged in activities of questionable legality and certain unscrupulousness in pursuit of a scrap of dubiously helpful information, and due to the fact that in spite of this, he was already beginning to doze off in your passenger's seat, you were reasonably suspicious that maybe, just  _ maybe, _ this was an elaborate ploy he had concocted just to have a reason to hang out again. And unnecessary as that was--he could just  _ ask _ ; after all, you were dating, even if your mind kept tripping over the words for it--the idea made you feel warm and dreamy and confident enough to ask for confirmation of your suspicions.

“Hey, Sans?”

He jolted out of his heavy-lidded, nodding state and you almost felt a bit guilty.

“present.”

“Um, so- is this a date?”

“nah, that's a chisp. stolen, might i add.”

“Ah, there's that sparkling wit. With the dad jokes.” You raised your eyebrows expectantly.

“uhh. is it- i mean.” He coughed. “is it a date. huh. interesting question.”

“Well, the reason I asked,” you continued quickly in hopes of saving the both of you some of the time you'd lose waiting for Sans to admit to anything, ever, “is because depending on the kinds of buddy cop movies you watch, stakeouts that are just stakeouts usually don't end up in sex. And in my own personal experience, dates… do, often enough. But a stakeout that  _ is _ a date? Who knows? Anything could happen.”

He tilted his head, frowning in sudden contemplation.

“that's… a  _ very _ good point.”

“Yeah, well… food for thought.”

He took a sudden interest in a stray cat that was grooming itself on the driveway nearest his passenger's side window, drumming his fingertips on the armrest. He cleared his throat. 

“is- would- hypothetically, would a stakeout be an okay first date?”

“Hmm, yeah, I think so. Points for originality. And extra if it actually results in good intel.”

“then that’s definitely what this is.”

“Good, I thought so. Then it won't be unprofessional of me to do  _ this,”  _ you said, swinging your legs out from beneath the wheel and stretching them out sideways over the center console until your feet were in his lap.

“oof.”

After that, you were both silent, listening to the quiet drone of the talk radio, or an occasional barking dog, and the noises of garage doors opening and closing as people returned home from work. The street lamps overhead lit up all at once, though it wasn’t yet completely twilight.

You stole chisps and swigs of soda from Sans, and he let you, even though there were plenty of snacks left in the grocery bag you hadn’t even bothered to investigate, yet.

Eventually, though, you grew bored and sleepy, but since stakeouts don't bear up under falling asleep on the job, you turned to Sans instead, wiggling your feet in his lap to get his attention.

“Hey, wanna play a game?”

He shot you a look.

“listen, jigsaw, your idea of fun is  _ fucked _ .”

You blinked.

“Wha- oh! Oh, yeah, yeah, I forgot about that. Ha, literally, fucked. No, I swear I meant I Spy or I'm Going on a Picnic or something along those lines. No kinky sex torture. I mean, unless you  _ want  _ kinky sex torture, but then you don’t get to blame it on me.”

He seemed to think about it for a minute, then leaned back in his seat, eyes scanning your surroundings.

“i spy somethin’ green.”

You brightened immediately.

“Hey, what a champ, that's the spirit!” you teased, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Is it… that mailbox?”

“nope.”

He slowly removed the sandal from the foot you had resting on top of the other one and flicked it behind him onto the floor of the backseat.

“Um?” you asked.

“ya got it wrong. gotta try again,” he said with a sly grin that told you he thought himself terribly clever.

“Is it the grass?”

“it's november and we're in a drought, where do you see green grass? wrong again.”

Your other sandal was discarded in the same way.

“Car?” you pointed.

“so sorry,” he said, pulling your sock off by the toe.

“Garage door?”

Other sock.

If you got it wrong again, something more crucial was going to come off. Luckily the cat Sans had been watching earlier darted around in front of your car and it dawned on you.

“The collar, the cat's collar!”

He just smiled and you prodded at him with your bare foot.

“Sans! That's it, isn't it?” you cried desperately as he took his time answering.

“...yeah, it was,” he conceded eventually, proud of himself.

You huffed and folded your arms in front of you.

“My turn. I spy… with my little eye, something… silver.”

Car, house numbers, lawn ornament; he lost both his slippers and his jacket.

“can i just point out that this is already unfair ‘cuz i didn't wear socks today.”

“I didn't make these rules, you did. What happened, did you get ‘em all… dirty?” you purred.

“you have  _ no idea,” _ he said, lowering his voice.

Then he cleared his throat. “yeah, no, they're just, they're in the wash. normal sock things. uh, hmm…”

He trailed off, searching.

“your keys. please tell me it's your key ring.”

You bit your lip to stop your grin from spreading.

“No,” you squeaked. “Sorry.”

“are ya, though? are ya really? somehow, this’s not how i thought this was gonna go.”

His voice was muffled by the fabric of his shirt as he tugged it off over his head.

You shrugged when he could see you again.

He took a long time to answer.

“truck nuts. oh, jesus h. christ, it's the truck nuts, isn't it. who the fuck has truck nuts? what year is it? god  _ damnit _ .”

You gave him two enthusiastic thumbs up. It was, indeed, the truck nuts.

“don't believe this shit… my own game…” he muttered. “all right, uh… it's red.”

You cast your eyes about, willing yourself to think like Sans--to think like a smartass. Red, and it would have to be hidden, but right under your nose, because he would want to rub your face in it eventually.

Of course! You slapped the steering wheel.

“Ugh, you think you’re  _ so _ clever, don’t you?”

“i have my moments. think you’ve got it?”

“I do. I’m betting my pants. ...My car,” you said, gesturing to the dusty maroon hood visible through your equally dusty windshield. “Whaddya say to that?” you challenged him.

“heh. i say, ‘take off your pants, ‘cuz it's not your car.’ can you even call this thing red right now?”

You blew a raspberry at him and scowled as you wriggled out of your flannel pajama pants, bumping your hip on the steering wheel. You were going to have to be much more careful with your next guess. Or, with the way he seemed to struggle to keep his gaze directed above the bottom hem of your shirt, perhaps much less careful.

You considered your choices thoroughly at any rate, and settled on the leaves of the Japanese Maple tree in the closest yard.

It was not.

Your cheeks blazed as you sat, speechless. You clicked your tongue, weighing your two options. Naked from the hips up, or down? An impossible choice.

“Hmm. Well, um, my options are, I think… equally bad? I honestly don’t know which I’d prefer to take--”

He waved his hand dismissively, a little abashed. 

“--it’s okay, you don’t actually have to- i mean, this was just a stupid thing, y’know? i shouldn’t’ve let it get this far to begin with.”

You pursed your lips. The things you’d do for this guy...

“Got a quarter?” you asked.

He gave you a questioning look, but fished in his pocket and handed you a coin which, when flipped, came up tails.

Sans’s red mystery item might as well have been your entire face as you pulled your underwear down to your knees, but it didn’t occur to you to ask.

You drummed on the steering wheel, willing yourself to focus, but the silence over your center console had quickly gone wired. You came to your final answer, a stop sign, by some miracle, as most parts of your brain had already forfeited the match some minutes ago.

He nodded, slowly.

“Oh, good. Well. That certainly escalated quickly.”

You tried to regulate the sound of your breathing, shaky with nerves and adrenaline and the thrill of how he couldn't tear his eyes off of you. And so it was your turn to find something to fixate on, but you had developed a sudden case of tunnel vision.

“I spy something blue.”

He snorted and splayed a hand over his face.

“is it somethin’ out there?”

“Nope.”

“good.”

With little hesitation your lips met his teeth above the gear shift, but you immediately drew back, grinning sheepishly as you attempted to delicately spit out some polyester moustache fibers.

You peeled the moustache off his face and he did yours as well.

“and here i thought i was about to get friendly with tom selleck.”

“So did I! Sorry to disappoint.”

“we can always make it up to each other.”

You drew in a breath, something resembling prudence, and a logically sound inhibition or two.

“I don't know,” you whined with all the paltry resolution you could muster, “we should be watching for Asgore, we also probably  _ shouldn't  _ be  _ caught _ watching for Asgore, also we're currently  _ absolutely  _ breaking public decency laws. We really…  _ really _ … shouldn't go getting ourselves in  _ more _ trouble.”

“yeah, that would be bad, huh?” he asked, his tone leading.

“Truly regrettable.”

He cleared his throat and adjusted his shorts, though that did nothing to hide his erection. You suspected he only meant to bring it to your attention, anyway. Not that you weren't acutely aware of it, to begin with.

“good thing we're so responsible. an’ law-abiding.”

You had never before heard a more apt description of two individuals about to engage in vehicular sex.

“That's us. I'm just gonna hop in the backseat? To grab my clothes.”

“yeah, i should get mine, too.”

You tried to keep your ass low and away from the windows as you scrambled into the backseat, and he laughed and poked at you as you did.

You landed against the back passenger's side door, legs spread wide, one foot planted on the seat. His laughter died off.

“this is the worst idea we've had in… uh... days,” he groaned, crawling towards you on his hands and one knee.

“Has it even been  _ that _ long since our last nonsense?”

“hours,  _ minutes _ , whatever.”

You caught his chin in your hand.

“And do you really believe that, or does it just make your dick harder to think it?”

“heh. you know me; bit of both,” he rasped, unapologetically taking in the sight of your naked lower half spread out before him.

No teasing, this time. Just the parallel ridges of his knuckles suddenly pressed against you right at the center of his attention. Your eyelids fluttered shut as he pulled those knuckles upwards, and around, massaging your clit and bringing to your attention just how aroused you already were. And it was exactly everything you needed and wanted since you had fallen asleep in the middle of trying to seduce him the night before.

You bit down hard into a “fffuck” as you leaned against the door, your head tilting back to rest on the window.

“yeah?” he asked, and you didn't even need to peek through your lashes to know exactly which Sans-brand self-satisfied-ass look he was pulling on you, just from the tone of his voice and a single word.

“Yeah,” you replied, grinning back at him crookedly, but indulgently and with all the acute fondness and familiarity you felt, just as you had a thousand times before. You opened your eyes to find him much closer than you had expected him to be, the glint of his eyes searching yours.

Your grin fell but your heart rate rose to meet it as you matched his sudden, uncommon seriousness.

“y’always make that face. what’s it for?”

You shook your head, but only just, and kissed him in the same movement. He rumbled his approval of the change of topic straight onto your lips, then a little louder by your ear when you leaned forward and reached out to fumble for his dick. You only lightly grazed the underside of it with your fingertips, and yet you had never heard him sound so relieved.

“Yeah?” you echoed him from earlier because you  _ had _ to, your lips never quite disconnecting from his skull. 

“you know, it’s very uncool to make fun of someone who’s as uh… conflicted as i am, right now.”

“Conflicted?” you drawled, angling your head to get a better look at him. “You don’t  _ seem _ too conflicted.” You got a firmer grip on him, this time. “Does this help?”

“that is a loaded fuckin’ question.” He laughed, weakly, rearing back on his one knee that was planted on the seat. He perched there for a long moment, uncannily still, seeming to study you underneath him. You became self-conscious as the object of his focus and eventually looked away from him.

“alright,” he said, finally. Before you could ask what he meant by that, he looped his arms under your knees and pulled you across the seat towards him until you were halfway lying down.

Suddenly, you squawked.

“i... i haven’t even done anything yet,” he said, puzzled and concerned.

“Ow, fuck, it’s the seatbelt thingy. It’s digging into my side- hang on.”

You wrestled with the offending plastic contraption until it was safely tucked into the crevice between the seats.

You heard him sigh before you had turned your attention fully back to him, and then with little warning, he was laying fully on top of you.

“oh, god. what are we doing?” he mumbled into your shoulder.

“Like right now, specifically, or in general, or...?”

“what am  _ i _ doing?”

“Me. Is that alright?”

His grip on your sides tightened, his fingertips digging into your flesh, and you nudged his forehead to try to get him to look at you. He did so with little more encouragement, and held your gaze for a long moment, his jaw grinding in thought.

“i’m uh, thinkin’ of-- fuck, asgore.”

You blinked.

“ _ P-pardon _ ?”

“no, he just pulled up.”

“Oh,  _ fuck, right, Asgore! _ ”

Sans deftly disentangled himself from you and crouched on the floorboard behind the driver’s seat. You mirrored him on the other side, but evidently were squirming too much by his estimation.

“are ya _crazy? get_ _down_.”

“I  _ am _ down, but let me remind you, my lower half is assbutt naked, and kinda sticky, and I'm trying not to think about how long it's been since I vacuumed out my floorboards” you hissed.

“how long?”

“I… I don't know. Oh, gross. I'm starting to think strip I-spy was a bad idea.”

“shame, i kinda liked it,” he said, reaching for the binoculars in the front seat and lifting them to his eyes.

You  _ tsk _ ed and sighed, but smiled anyway.

“Okay, fine. Me too.”

He looked away from the eyepieces to steal a glance at you, and his hold on the binoculars sagged the longer he looked.

You inhaled sharply, as if awoken by a hypnic jerk.

“-But we're never doing it again, right?”

“oh. oh, god, no. no, i mean, we- we’re a lot o’ things…” he trailed off, focused once more on whatever Asgore was doing.

“...we’re a lot of things, but?” you prompted.

“mm, nup. that’s it.”

“Oh. Well, what's going on out there? I can barely see past Truck Nuts.”

“nothin’ interesting so far. he’s just bringin’ in his groceries. it's a lot… jeez, how much does he spend a month? hope he's got a costco membership.”

“Well, he’s a big dude. And you’ve seen how much food mom can put away.”

He shrugged, silently surveying. You sighed and shifted your legs, resigning yourself to being stuck in the backseat floorboards for at least as long as it took Asgore to get his groceries.

“oh, what the hell and fuck?”

“What!? What!?”

“what’s name of that guy...”

“Are we playing twenty questions now, and do I have to take off my shirt if I get it wrong? ‘Cuz, honestly, we’ve been there already and I don’t think now is really the time to revisit it.”

“nah, that life’s behind us now. uhh, j-somethin’, real human-y soundin’ name,” he muttered, squinting. “jake? johann? jiminy? jesus, maybe? he’s talkin’ to asgore.”

“ _ Jesus _ is talking to Asgore.”

“i’m serious. obviously not the human religion guy, just… this guy, whose name i am seventy percent sure is also jesus. y’know, the internet guy... with the face?” he gestured by pulling his hands away from his cheeks horizontally.

“What, Jerry?!” you shouted before remembering that you were in a confined and not strictly sound-proof environment and clamping your hand over your mouth.

“oh, man, i was way off.”

“What?! I wanna see, move over and hand me the ‘nocs! ‘Noc me up, man!”

He made room for you and handed the binoculars over. “just like pa always warned me. can you read lips?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you said, squinting through the twilight to see the King waving a pastel pink sheet of paper at the town menace. “Asgore’s saying, uh, ‘Gee, your newest Japanese soap commercial sure was a riot! Really loved the part where you lifted up their skirts and slithered your--’”

“nope.”

Bony fingers pinched your lips closed. You batted them away.

“He’s got a flyer or something, but I can’t tell what it says, can you?”

“nah. damn.”

The conversation between them lasted for several minutes, with Asgore politely nodding and slowly regretting having struck up the conversation with his neighbor in the first place, but also still resolutely trying to foist the flyer on Jerry. Jerry didn’t appear to be enjoying the conversation any more than Asgore was, and yet when presented with the seemingly obvious option of just taking the flyer and ending the discussion right then and there, would instead sigh and slouch further.

Eventually however, Asgore got a one-shouldered shrug out of him as he turned to go inside. He watched Jerry go in, and as soon as his front door shut, he crept, as much as a monster his size could creep, over to his mailbox and placed the flyer inside before returning for his final armfuls of groceries.

You sighed. You weren’t a mail thief. The trail had run cold, and there was nothing to be done about it. You slunk back in your corner of the floorboards and stretched your legs.

“Well, that’s that, I guess,” you said dolefully. “Unless Asgore’s steppin’ out at night, I think we’re probably done here, right? Like, I have to pee and it’s starting to get cold in here, so… what do you think?”

As you spoke, his face lit up with childlike glee as he gripped your shoulder and pointed.

You scooted back towards the center just in time to see Jerry removing the flyer from his mailbox and depositing it directly into his trash can before returning to the flyerless sanctuary of his home.

“Oh, HELL yes!”

A mail thief you were not, but a trash thief? Of course! You grew up with monsters! And Jerry didn’t even fucking  _ recycle  _ it, so, really, it was the ecologically  _ responsible  _ thing to do.

“get your pants on, boo, i got this.”

“Boo?” you echoed, but he was already waist deep upside down in Jerry’s trash can with his legs kicking over the side for balance. When he emerged, foil pop tart wrapper static clinging to his skull, holding the crumpled pink ball aloft like a grand prize, you had to ride a surge of terrible adoration that nearly knocked the wind out of you.

“it’s a bake sale for the senior center,” he said, arriving neatly in the passenger’s seat while you were still in the back, reclothing yourself. “saturday at three.”

“Oof, mom’s gonna hate that. Competing bake sales in the same week? Yikes.”

“her loss, our gain. now we’ve got a guaranteed timeframe he’s gonna be out of the house.”

“So we can break in and plant a dildo to Inception a conversation out of him and my mom. Man, what is my life?”

“yeah, i’d definitely say things are heating up, narratively speaking.”

“Hm? Hey, where’d you throw my left shoe? Did it land behind the seats?”

“well, i say we blow this joint. we got our clue.”

You acquiesced when you located your shoe and climbed back into the driver’s seat. NPR filled the silence on the way back to his and Papyrus’s house, and though that silence was comfortable enough, Sans bounced his knee the whole time and spent the journey home looking out the window.

You followed him inside to a once more empty house, and once he deposited his keys in a little handmade clay dish on the counter, he turned to face you.

“hey, i’ve got somethin’ i wanna show ya,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t been working up to it for the last fifteen minutes.

He led you through a door in the kitchen and your eyes had to adjust to the darkness of his garage. He stepped away and flipped on the light switch. Next to Papyrus’s car was a motorcycle, gleaming and pearlescent.

“Waaait,” you said as the bike compelled you toward it, “this isn't… This isn't the same one, is it? It looks just like your old one.”

He laughed.

“better not be, i sold that piece of junk for scrap when i moved away, and i actually paid, i mean, y'know, decent money for this one.”

“You’re not even a little nostalgic? Hell, I am. It’s so, so pretty, Sans. When did you get it?”

He shoved his hands down in his pockets, glanced at you, then glued his eyes to Papyrus's car’s front bumper.

“‘smorning.”

You whistled.

“Brand new, huh? You got a name for it yet?

He exhaled.

“i was actually, uh… hopin’ you’d name it.”

You had your arm extended for the handlebars, to touch the shiny black rubber, but you froze mid-reach, dropped your hand down to your side. You looked over your shoulder at him, shocked and delighted. 

“You  _ what now _ .”

He shrugged and leaned against the passenger side door of Papyrus's convertible, casually crossing one ankle over the other.

“the other night you were listing off the pet rocks i gave you forever ago, there was one I especially liked. shit, what was it…”

“Mjolnir?” you offered, but he shook his head.

“Dwayne?” Still no.

“Buttpotato?”

“buttpotato.” he clapped, or rather, clacked, and pointed, grinning.

“ _ Buttpotato _ ?” you repeated. “I- no, I cannot in good conscience let you let  _ me _ name your new bike, especially if Buttpotato, the name that I, as a twelve year old, gave to a pet rock, is the standard I'm gonna be held to.”

“so don't name it buttpotato. if it helps, i'll just call it something else behind your back if i hate it.”

You scoffed, but felt a smile tugging at your lips. You scratched your head, then folded your arms.

“Okay. I'll sleep on it, see if I can come up with something worthy of twelve year old me.”

You took his hand.

“But for now, let's go back inside, it's cold out here.”

He didn't budge, and he wouldn't meet your eyes.

“there’s, uh. somethin’ else,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding very small despite the acoustics of the garage, “i wouldn't have bothered getting a new one if i didn’t plan on usin’ it more than just every once in a while.”

He waited for you to respond, but you weren't sure what he was getting at, so you just gave him a blank look and waited for him to continue. Instead, he screwed up his face and laughed. The sound was painful. 

“aah, forget it, it was a dumb idea. probably should just take the damn thing back. probably be twice the hassle it was buying it…” he trailed off. You couldn't let him.

“Wh- no, go back to the first thing. What did you mean? You’re not leaving again, so soon?”

“no,” he said so quickly his voice cracked. “no. i just meant, i've kind of started making plans for, uh. for being… around, more. wanted to see what you thought.”

“What, like, you're gonna take more time off from work?”

“uhh… sort-mm, somethin’ like that.”

You kissed him without another word, without missing a beat, but you hadn't fully intended to start what you then started. Then again, when had you ever, where he was concerned? Probably Papyrus would be horrified to see you making out with his brother against his car, but goddamnit, you’d just heard the best news and you wanted to give the man a kiss or two thousand. And who could blame you if you didn’t want to stop once he’d pulled you in so close you nearly tripped over the bone tangle of his feet.

Then, suddenly, he pushed you away.

“nah, that’s not it. that’s not what i meant, i’m sorry.”

You shook your head, confused.

“i’m thinkin’ of coming home, permanently. i’m thinkin’ of quitting the job.”

Your stomach flipped before you even fully registered the implications of that statement.

You laughed, too, a loud, sharp bark of disbelief that bounced off of the smooth concrete floor and drywall, but you knew he wasn’t joking.

“Wow!” you said unconvincingly, knowing that any other thing that could come out of your mouth in such a state of shock would be unequivocally the wrong thing to say.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i'm here, i'm queer, i'm ready to hear your sweet voice when you ask me why it's taken so long](http://auntie-diluvian.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Lost Toy Problem (PodFic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8683291) by [Auntie_Diluvian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntie_Diluvian/pseuds/Auntie_Diluvian), [Upbeatbox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upbeatbox/pseuds/Upbeatbox)




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